Fire Away
by taylortot
Summary: Riza is an assassin working with the Resistance, a group organized to take down the corruption in Amestris and hand the power back over to the people of the country. But when she meets Roy Mustang, a colonel in the military, she starts to realize that the world may not be as black and white as it seems. AU. Royai.
1. Prologue

Blood rushed in her ears, circulating through her frigid body as the sun barely peeked over the edge of the horizon. The sky was the color of a grapefruit, rich and red and giving off an almost melancholy taste, bitter at the back of her tongue with the anticipation of what the rising sun meant. An ordinary morning for her, a rather unfortunate morning for the man her hawk's eyes were trained on through the scope of her rifle.

The radio headset over her ears crackled and a voice came in on the other side through the scratchy reception, sounding too bright and cheerful for such a hideous occasion. She poised her finger on the trigger and took a deep breath, eyes unwavering.

"Elizabeth, what is your position?" Through her concentration, she mourned the youth in his voice. Kain Fuery was remarkably unscathed for all that he had been through in this one-sided war.

"Target in sight." Her words carried barely any sound as the chill of the air caught her nose and tensed fingers. She allowed her mind to go blank, thinking only on the simple actions. She didn't like her job; in fact, she loathed it. But she carried on because it was the only thing she was good at and her hopes for the future rode on her willingness to do whatever it took to make it down that narrow path.

Fuery's voice was farther away; he was speaking to someone else now. "She's all set; just waiting for time to catch up, now."

A shuffling, then a new voice. A rougher, older voice that was as relaxed and familiar to her as her own. She could almost smell the tobacco on his breath now and imagined his face as the smile would split across it. "How you doing, Lizzie?"

She cringed inwardly; having a codename was one thing, nicknaming it was another matter altogether. "This is hardly the time to be making social calls, _Jackie_."

He gave the pretense of pouting. "I was worried about you."

The air seemed to tense around her, eyes still trained on the man sitting obliviously at his office desk, back to her. It was sad that he would never see his end coming and she had to quickly push away the thoughts before they engulfed her, swallowed her, never let her escape.

"You can start worrying when you're dead," she said briskly. "Is Point 0 ready for me?"

Fuery's voice echoed faintly over the line, torn in some places by the static like papercuts in his throat. "All clear!"

"Excellent," she murmured.

"I'll have breakfast waiting for you when you get back," came the tobacco voice again and she almost smiled as the line clicked off in the headset.

The sun inched higher and she could feel the seconds ticking, pushing down the dread in her stomach as the time neared. It was automatic to her; she didn't have to think about it. There was merely the gun and the breath in her lungs, the crisp air. The world started to wake up around her and her hands were steady.

The bell rang. She fired a single round without hesitation and the sound of it was lost in the tolling that echoed through the sleepy streets. Glass shattered soundlessly and the unsuspecting victim slumped against his desk. She lowered the rifle and began to systematically pack up for her quick escape.

Her job was done for today.


	2. Chapter 1

Riza Hawkeye pulled her jacket around her closer. The old truck was not in optimal shape and the chill of early spring still cut through the cracks in the frame and sliced directly into her skin. She repressed a shudder, feeling the eyes of the driver train on her from the cracked rearview mirror. If there was anything she refused to do, it was show any kind of weaknesses in front of the men from the compound, especially those she considered more easily influenced by corruption.

_That's a terrible way of looking at things, Riza_, she scolded herself, but she couldn't really deny it. Her trust in anyone these days was minimal; not even her closest confidant had her complete trust. No, the last person she'd trusted had been her father, and that was buried along with his body.

"There's a canteen of water under the bench if you're thirsty," the driver said loudly, his voice breaking through the rumbling of the engine as the truck bumped over uneven ground.

"Thank you," she replied stiffly, trying to smile a little. Her hands flexed over her rifle, and the other equipment from the stakeout rattled against the tinny sounding floor. A headache was beginning to take shape in the front of her forehead and she closed her eyes briefly against the pain. What she needed was a steaming cup of coffee and a shower; it would help to wash off the memories in her head from this morning.

The ride to the camp for the compound was about a twenty minutes from East City, and the relief of being back in comfortable territory was a palpable stream in her blood that loosened the intensity of her shoulders as the truck driver pulled into the dusty, makeshift parking space between the crevices of the hillside.

"Thank you," she said again, standing up and slinging her gun strap over one shoulder. The driver grinned back at her over his shoulder and she wanted to cringe away from him because there was just something about the way he sneered that had her hackles going up.

"My pleasure," he told her.

Riza pushed open the back doors of the truck and hopped out, grabbing all her equipment with her and lugging it toward the old, abandoned warehouse that sat half-carved into the swell of the hill. Looking to her west, she could see the glimmers of East City as the sun rose higher and sparked off the rooftops. The breeze picked up, flinging her bangs about her face and tangling in her eyelashes and she had to push away the churning in her stomach as she thought about what would happen to that man she'd killed this morning. How his wife and two sons would react upon hearing the news.

She walked through the gate and into the front lobby room, leaving her things at the desk with a deep breath. Damn, that shower was sounding good right about now.

"Good morning, Miss Hawkeye," the desk assistant - Riza thought her name was Maria Ross, but she'd seen so many faces she couldn't be completely sure - said with a smile, taking the rifle and the equipment off the counter space and plugging it into a cubby marked with Riza's name. Some poor kid not old enough to do anything else would be the one to clean up and restock her supplies for her next mission.

Riza mustered a smile, but she couldn't necessarily call the start to this day _good_ at all. Even if that man had needed to be killed - was part of the organization that was killing others and in much larger masses - it still didn't erase the value of his human life. That he was alive and that she'd taken it away.

But she wouldn't dwell on it, because then she'd go mad with guilt.

"Morning," she responded, rubbing some warmth into her hands. "Do I have any other assignments for the day?"

Maria glanced down at the scattered stack of papers on the desk and sifted through them for a few moments. A couple of men walked through the lobby and waved at Riza while she waited; she nodded in response and almost smiled. Her reputation around the compound was so large that everyone was respectful to her.

Of course, her fame among the men and woman who were a part of the resistance organization was also helped along by the commander and chief of the whole operation. That man was insufferable, though, and she prayed that maybe today he'd forget that she existed for the time being.

"Ah," Maria said, smiling a bit up at Riza. "Looks like your schedule is cleared for the day; they didn't even put you on guard duty tonight."

Surprise flickered across Riza's face; being one of the sharpest pair of eyes on this camp, she was almost always on some sort of look-out post, especially at night. Then she remembered who helped to fill out the assignment sheets and rolled her eyes. _Of course_ he would.

"Thank you," she said kindly, her smile turning genuine this time.

The dark haired woman grinned. "No problem. Enjoy that day off, Miss Hawkeye."

Riza nodded and began to make her way to the staircase when a familiar face was coming up them. He smiled instantly at her, the cigarette dangling casually between his lips like always, blonde hair ruffled like he just rolled out of bed. She smiled inwardly at his appearance as she came to a stop and let him approach her, crossing her arms over her chest and frowning.

"It's barely eight in the morning, Havoc," she said with a raised eyebrow. "And you're already trying to kill yourself." She reached for the cigarette, but he laughed and pulled away from her reaching hand.

"You scare me more than a tobacco stick," he said before wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "Glad to see you made it back."

She shrugged away from him awkwardly and tried to keep her face from showing the slight unease she still felt around him. They'd been working together with the resistance since she joined when she was seventeen, and it would be a lie to say that she didn't have any history with Jean Havoc. He'd been her first for _everything_, and though she never thought that she loved him, she did care for him a lot.

They'd agreed to breaking it off mutually when they got older and things changed. They were expected to do more as a member of the Resistance. Havoc was placed into weight training and hand to hand combat, with a night course in close range target practice. Riza's days were spent on agility and field work, and above all else, constant attention to any variation of guns and weapons.

All in all, Riza merely considered him her only real friend in the compound, with the exception of her roommate, and it was stupid of her to be uncomfortable with him at moments because she knew that he'd moved on too. She briefly wondered if he was ever uncomfortable around her too, but brushed the thought away immediately. It was _Havoc_.

"Glad to be back," she said as he made a gesture for her to go first down the staircase. "It was a nice surprise to see that I was off the hook for the rest of the day." When she reached the bottom she looked over her shoulder and smiled at him. "Thanks."

He rolled his eyes, but his voice became teasing as they entered the cafeteria. "I invited Olivier out to dinner in the city tonight, but the request for time off the grounds would only go through if there were more than four signed to the slip." He laughed. "I figured you could use the time off anyway. You work too hard."

A night in the city, huh? Didn't sound too bad, and in all actuality, it would be nice to leave the compound for a while. The last time she'd done anything remotely leisurely off base grounds had been over two months ago, and the little bookshelf she had in her room was quickly losing its novelty since she knew every story from cover to cover.

And it made her relieved to know that he didn't actually do it for quite her sake. A part of her relaxed and a bit of the anxiety melted away.

"Olivier Armstrong, huh?" she asked casually, though her shock at the idea was poorly hidden from her expression. She couldn't imagine what that woman could possibly see in Havoc enough to notice him; most men were afraid of her, and the ones that weren't quickly found out how to be.

His face darkened in color as he lead her to his table and they sat down. There was a tin platter with a covering and she removed it, sighing as the aroma hit her nose. Oh god, there was nothing like a hot breakfast after the morning she'd had.

"Yeah, she, uh, she's slotted for my combat practice times and she's kicked my ass a few times. I made a bet with her."

Riza took a sip of her coffee, amused. Olivier Armstrong making bets? That was just about the most wildly uncharacteristic thing she'd ever heard. _Just what kind of effect does Havoc have on that woman?_ "A bet?"

Havoc grinned enthusiastically and leaned back in his seat, looking proud of himself in a typical male fashion. "I bet her that if I could beat her, she'd go out to dinner with me."

She laughed once at the pure joy that rolled off him and picked up her fork to begin eating. He deserved some happiness in his life, after all of the things that he was put through. Where Riza was separated from her kills, Havoc was up close and personal. He saw the light leave their eyes, felt their last breaths rattle the air.

"A little advice speaking on behalf of women everywhere: on the first date, don't let your eyes wander," she warned him good-naturedly, remembering the times when they were an item and the first thing he'd look at were, inevitably, her breasts.

His face reddened again, as if he knew exactly what she was thinking. "Got it."

::::::::::

After finishing her breakfast, Havoc told her where she and the rest of the party were meeting before leaving the compound tonight. She nodded and thanked him once more before heading off to her room, grateful that she could finally be alone.

Once there, she peeled off the outer clothes like her jackets and over shirts before toeing out of her boots and slipping the heavy pants down her legs. The chilly air bit at her exposed skin but she was practically dancing with excitement, despite her exhaustion, to get into the shower. Anticipation had her smiling as she grabbed her towel, a change of clothes and toiletries and opened her bathroom door-

The phone on her desk rang. Riza sighed and set her things down on the counter just inside the bathroom before hurrying over to the phone, taking her hair clip out as she answered it. "Hello?"

"Miss Hawkeye, you've got a call from the commander if you're not busy," came Maria Ross's voice over the phone, sounding more formal than she had earlier that morning.

Riza leaned against the wall. "I'm available; you can patch him through." There were a few clicking noises and then she sighed when she knew that he was there. "I'm not a seventeen year old little girl anymore," she said, trying to keep the irritation from her voice. "You don't have to keep checking up on me."

"I am your superior as well as your grandfather and I'll do as I please," he responded in a voice that held more amusement than the gruffness his words relayed. She repressed the urge to sigh at him and closed her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose.

"Is there something you wanted in particular?" she asked, forcing herself to keep civil. If she was being quite honest with herself, she'd almost prefer to talk to the Commander side of Grumman rather than the grandfatherly one. Out of everyone else in her life, he was the one she distrusted the most, despite the blood ties.

She gritted her teeth as he responded; he sounded much too pleased with himself. "Not quite this time. I trust your assignment this morning went without trouble?"

"Perfectly executed." As if he should expect anything less from her.

"I'm thrilled to hear it."

Her head tilted back against the wall. "Commander, you never call without a reason and I'm not inclined to believe that this conversation is going to be any different."_ So why won't you come out with it already?_

He was silent for a moment. "I will be travelling out to your base near East City tomorrow night," he reported curtly and she could see it now, him leaning back in his chair as he brushed his fingers of his graying moustache. "We've got a big obstacle looming in that area and I want to be there to make sure it goes according to plan in every conceivable way."

Yes, that made sense, but why was he calling her? "And what do you expect me to do with this information, sir?" She knew that his advisor stationed at this base would know of his arrival, so she couldn't quite figure out the meaning behind his need to talk to her.

"I'm going to have a very important mission for you, Riza," he said in a lower voice. "How successful you are could change the entire course of our strategy. I only have to dig a little more before I know for sure who your target will be."

"I'm used to going out and completing missions," she replied.

"Yes, but none to this caliber of importance, I assure you," he sounded tired when he spoke.

"Alright." She was starting to get a sense of foreboding. "What's so important about this one kill?"

"Like I said, I'm still waiting to hear back from some of our informants before I've got the whole picture. Enough about work, we can talk about that when I arrive tomorrow. How is your shoulder?"

She puffed air out of her lungs, thinking to the bullet that grazed her shoulder last week during a more lively field day. "How did you know about that?"

"Oh posh, Riza, it's my job to know."

"It's fine, thank you." There was more acid in her voice than necessary; he didn't care about her well-being as much as he let on. She knew that his real concerns lay with overthrowing the government's hold on its people, the poor living conditions most of them were stuck with, the hunger and the thirst. While the military had everything handed to them on a silver platter. His obsession with evening the playing field was understandable but that didn't make his false worry for her any more acceptable.

She glanced up in surprise when the lock of her room jiggled and then the door was being thrown open. Her roommate, Rebecca, sauntered in without her shirt on, looking extremely perplexed before she looked up and saw Riza standing there with the phone to her ear.

"Riza! Hey you're back! I can't find my shirt; I don't remember where I-oh, you're on the phone, sorry!" She grinned and closed the door behind her. "Who is it?"

Riza shook her head at the curly-haired woman. "It's not really any of your business, Rebecca."

On the line, Grumman chuckled and the sound irritated Riza. She disliked when he was humored at her expense, especially when she wasn't even trying to be witty or entertaining.

"Well _excuuuuuse_ me," her roommate replied, rolling her eyes in a playful way. "Don't mind me, carry on with your conversation." She waved with her hands and then went to her dresser to pull out a new shirt, shifting through the crumpled mobs of fabric stuffed into the drawers.

"I have to go, sir," Riza said, turning her attention back to the line.

"Yes, I suspect you do. Got plans for tonight after all, don't you?"

She seethed as she hung up the phone, hearing his laughter ring in her ears. How the hell had he gotten a hold of her plans so easily and so soon? It's not like she had to report to him every time she had to take a damn breath and he'd never really given her special attention at all since she joined him in the Resistance so why wouldn't he just _leave her alone_?

Rebecca sat on her bed and crossed her legs. "You look flustered."

Riza groaned and rubbed her face. "I don't know how much longer I can take dealing with that man. I don't care if he's the last living relative I have."

"Well, I mean, it could be worse."

"How could it be worse? He calls me at least once a week and he's somehow gotten control of not only the plans that I make for myself, but also every other small detail of my life! I can't do anything without him hearing about it and having him unload his opinions and his objections on my actions!"

Rebecca whistled, surprised by the outburst; Riza rarely showed so much emotion. "I was only saying what the roommate is inclined to say. Your life actually sucks. Sorry."

"Thanks," Riza replied sarcastically and then made a face. "I shouldn't be yelling at you. It's just that talking to him after completing an assignment is the last thing I want to do." She couldn't explain it really, and it didn't make sense, but a part of her felt that he was watching her for his own ulterior motives. The old man was concocting something and it frustrated her that she couldn't figure out what it was exactly, or what kind of part she would play in his grand scheme.

"I'll bet. Oh! I'm sorry I wasn't here to meet you for breakfast, I went to target practice."

"Without a shirt?"

"You know what, don't ask about that, because I don't even know."

For the first time that morning, Riza's smile felt genuine. "I'm not sure I want to know anyway." She made her way back toward the bathroom door and locked it behind her. Her face turned to the mirror and she studied her reflection long and hard. Her caramel eyes raked over her long, honey-toned hair, her chapped lips, the tension in her shoulders.

She wasn't fooled; she knew that she wasn't necessarily attractive, but that wasn't the reason why she hated the woman she saw in the mirror at all.

Turning away, she repressed a shudder, and peeled off the t-shirt and shorts she wore before slipping her undergarments also from her body. She turned up the knob for the water as hot as she could possibly stand and then stepped into the stream and let the water work over the knots in her back.

A shower always cleared her mind and chased away the darkness that seemed to cloud around her after finishing an assignment. It was the best remedy for her, the only way to make herself feel a little bit better. She joined the Resistance knowing that she'd have to kill - needing to kill in order to turn the tides and give the people of this country the freedom they deserved - but she didn't understand the weight of her commitment until she saw her first victim fall.

She'd cried that night into her pillow, but that was the only time she'd ever let her mask break. Now, after several years of the same routine, she was almost immune to the idea, but not quite. Because the guilt was still a weight on her chest, still a yoke on her shoulders that even the water couldn't wash away.

It was hard to remember the last time she'd been truly happy. Maybe there were glimmers of it in the first stages of her relationship with Havoc so many years ago, but that was also back when her youth meant innocence. Now, though she was only in her twenties, she didn't feel young or careless anymore. She couldn't afford to be.

After an extended period of time, she shut off the water and toweled herself dry before donning her fresh change of clothes. When she emerged from the bathroom, Rebecca was still laying on her bed, her curls splayed around her head like a fan. Her eyes darted to Riza and she made a face.

"You are at least going to wear a skirt out tonight, aren't you?" she asked, noticing the baggy pants and the T-shirt that Riza was wearing.

"I will wear whatever I please." The blonde put her bathroom things away and began to comb her hair.

"Come _on_, Riza, you never go out anywhere, the least you can do is show off them sexy legs of yours."

"My legs are hardly sexy."

"You could ask any man in the compound and they would disagree heartily. Want me to prove it?"

Riza shook her head and put the comb down. "Fine, I'll wear a damned skirt."

And hours later, she was pulling down the hem of the skirt so that it at least touched her kneecaps, a plain V-necked shirt tucked in at the waist. She didn't mind the long slit up the side; it was easier to reach the gun in her holster than having to yank the fabric up if need be.

Rebecca had been in on the night out in East City, but she was dressed much more boisterously than Riza in a bright dress and applied heavier makeup insisting that she was going to get laid tonight even if it was with a man twice her age.

"As long as he can give as good as I got, I'm down for anything," she explained as if it was a fair fact to share with the entire world. Rebecca's lack of privacy never ceased to amaze Riza.

Havoc, Olivier Armstrong, and Kain Fuery were waiting by the doors all with varying expressions on their face ranging from Havoc's smug look, to Olivier's icy, hardened glare, to the excitement that shone off Fuery like a six year old on his birthday. Riza felt a rising sense of relief the farther they got from the building, despite the strange atmosphere of emotions.

She felt normal, for once, almost like a young woman her age should feel when she was presented with the opportunity to go out and enjoy a night on the town. The whole feeling was so strange that she was apprehensive about it but once she was in the town vehicle speeding toward East City while sandwiched between Fuery and Rebecca, the apprehension began to leave her.

There was no way to tell what kind of night she would have after all.


	3. Chapter 2

**A/N: Hey guys! I'm so thrilled with the feedback I got on the last chapter and I'm really grateful for all the alerts and the follows; you are fantastic people. A moment of thanks for my beta, Liv, because without her I would be lost and so would all of you.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot!**

::::

Chapter 2

Perhaps Riza would have had time to be bored if she was not utterly amused at the entirety of events unfolding before her. Armstrong and Havoc were on the dance floor; Olivier looked perfectly disagreeable while her flamboyant date grinned wickedly in triumph as he had been all night. It was particularly funny that she had to keep repositioning his wandering hands and Riza couldn't help but roll her eyes at that. _Typical Havoc._

Rebecca, despite her vows to snag a man that evening, couldn't fool Riza as easily as she tricked everyone else. The longing in her expression while she tried not to watch Havoc have a good time was clear as day, and even though she kept a happy face while talking to Fuery in the booths, Riza knew from her spot against the wall that her roommate only wanted one man's attention and he was absolutely oblivious to it.

She sipped at her drink, feeling its warmth as it slid down her throat. Even though Rebecca wasn't on Havoc's arm, and Olivier was scowling as if she wanted to use her very glare to set the world on fire, Riza still knew that everyone was having a good time. She felt out of place and unnecessary. The feeling was a familiar companion to her, for although she was well-respected at the compound and had her friends, she still lacked a connection that could make her truly _feel_ something.

A sigh slipped from her. Getting out of the compound seemed like a good idea at the time but watching the bodies sway on the dance floor and hearing the laughter from the dining area was making her feel even more alone than usual. She brushed it off as best she could; someone like her wasn't exactly fit for human interaction anyway.

After getting a refill on her drink, she thanked the man behind the bar and made her way back to where Rebecca and Fuery were sitting and took her place across from therm.

"There you are!" Rebecca cried over the jubilant music that danced through the air. "I was wondering where you went."

"To the bathroom," Riza lied with a tight smile, taking a sip of her glass; she didn't want to worry her. To worry others would be to ruin their nights and besides, Riza wasn't exactly fond of being the center of attention.

"Oh. You should have told me! We could have gone together!"

Fuery grimaced slightly. "You mean girls actually do that?"

"I am not a girl, Fuery," Rebecca sniffed. She may have had just a tinge too much alcohol in her system to be talking so freely. "I am a full-blooded _woman_. See?" She stuck out her chest a little farther than she needed to and Fuery quickly averted his eyes. "There's a difference. Girls don't have _girls_."

"My mistake," he squeaked.

Riza threw the young man an apologetic look. "Ignore her," she said.

"Don't ignore me!" Rebecca pouted and leaned on the table in a very unlady-like fashion. "I'm always being ignored and no one ever takes me seriously. I just want to be loved! Is that so bad?"

"I take you seriously," Fuery assured her, though he still wouldn't look in case she was flaunting her boobs.

"So do I," Riza murmured, though she knew that Rebecca was talking about a certain special someone whose attention was being diverted by an outrageously beautiful blonde on the dance floor.

"You guys don't count. You're my friends. You have to love me!"

"Havoc is your friend too, isn't he?" Riza knew she was being bold, but a part of her smirked internally when Rebecca's eyes snapped to her in an instant. Each of them knew what the other was saying. Tension hung in the air out of the sheer surprise on Rebecca's face before she decided to go for a nonchalant approach.

"I suppose he is."

Fuery looked suspiciously between them. "Am I missing something?"

"No," Rebecca said.

"Oh, come on, no one ever tells me anything."

"That's because you're too short."

Riza quickly turned her laugh into a cough and covered her mouth to hide her smile. Fuery looked at Rebecca in indignation.

"I am not short! And what the heck does that have to do with anything?!"

"I don't trust short people!"

"That doesn't even make any sense!"

"Sure it does; if a guy is shorter than me that makes him untrustworthy because I don't know if they're gonna be lookin' up my skirt or not."

He gaped at her. "I wouldn't do that! I'm not _that_ short."

"Aha!" she exclaimed, pointing a finger at him. "But you're saying you _would_ do that if you _were_ that short!"

"What? No!"

Riza slid the half-empty glass of champagne away from Rebecca and took it as her own even though she already had a drink; if Rebecca drank any more tonight, who knew what else she'd say. She wasn't exactly keen on privacy, and if she blurted out something she would regret in the morning, living with her would be insufferable for at least the next week. It was for Rebecca's protection as much as her own.

Fuery was still trying to defend himself against Rebecca's unreasonable attacks when a laughing Havoc and a flustered Armstrong emerged from the crowd of swaying bodies, both with beads of sweat glistening at their brows.

"I knew you were fast on your feet, sir, but I didn't know you were twice as graceful," Havoc said in his typically flirtatious way as his date sat next to Riza.

Olivier scowled at him. "I hope you're prepared for tomorrow's training session, Havoc." She didn't say it, but the unspoken _or else_ hung in the air. Riza finished the rest of the woman's sentence in her head and cringed a bit at the threat of it.Her friend was ridiculously enthralled with a woman who was so ready to cause so much pain.

"I could say the same thing to you."

That seemed to fluster her more.

"Alright," Rebecca drawled, cutting off another protest from Fuery as she turned her attention to the two new arrivals, trying her best to appear unaffected by the obvious chemistry. "You guys look like you had a fun time."

"It was not fun," Olivier said sternly, though Havoc winked.

Rebecca looked to Riza with a grin that said _I_ _need to get the hell out of this booth. _"Riza, you wanna dance?"

Riza glanced at Fuery who was tipping back another drink - poor guy needed some of that after trying to understand Rebecca's reasoning - and then at Havoc, who was not-so-secretly staring at Olivier's face as the woman crossed her arms over her chest obstinately and leaned back against the seat. Riza felt the need to evacuate just as much as Rebecca did.

"Alright."

She followed her friend out onto the dance floor and they held each other's hands in front of them, bopping to the music.

"Thanks," Rebecca said with a sudden sober relief.

"You're welcome," Riza responded with a smile. "You're kind of obvious, you know."

"Only to you." The women twirled and twisted. "It's those damned eyes of yours. You miss nothing, do you?"

"No."

"Didn't think so. And it scares me."

"You shouldn't be scared of telling me anything, Becca. You of all people know that I'm not a blabber mouth." _Unlike someone else I know._

"Yeah, I know, but still. I didn't think I was _that_ obvious."

Riza raised an eyebrow at her. "You haven't taken your eyes off him for a second since we met up with him in the lobby back at the compound. I'm not stupid."

"Well everyone else must be," Rebecca sighed. "Especially him. Why did I have to go and get attracted to such an idiot?"

"Beats me," Riza laughed, "maybe it's a rite of passage. I've been there _and_ done that."

Rebecca looked at her curiously and Riza automatically disliked the scrutiny in her eyes. "You don't still like him, do you?"

"Of course not! That's a ridiculous question; we broke it off years ago."

"It's not that ridiculous. He's not bad to look at. In fact, he's so hot he might as well be smokin'. No pun intended."

Riza shook her head at her friend. No, her time with Havoc had run its course. She was happy that she could still call him a friend and that there were no hard feelings between them. Hell, happy wasn't even a strong enough word for it. To have such a fortunate ending in a romantic relationship was unusual and, to be honest, to have lost Havoc completely would have changed everything.

Still, she doubted that she'd ever find someone that she'd love unconditionally. It just wasn't in the cards for someone like her, a murderer with a cause. She didn't deserve that kind of happiness, and she'd come to terms with the fact that she'd have to live without it a long time ago. It didn't bother her anymore.

The two women danced for a couple of songs, their hair escaping from their bindings, and Rebecca's laugh louder than any other conversation on the dance floor. It was hard to deny that Riza was having a good time now that she was distracted from her thoughts; it had been so long since she'd been able to do anything for herself. Maybe she didn't deserve happiness, she'd take what came to her.

"I'm exhausted. Wanna grab another drink?" Rebecca asked, huffing, eyes glittering with the excitement.

Riza shook her head as the two of them made their way back to the booth. "No, actually I'm gonna go out for some air."

Havoc must have heard her say that, because his head perked up and he grinned at her as Rebecca went to the bar to grab herself a drink. "Mind if I tag along?" he asked. Her eyes caught on the outline of the cigarette carton in his pocket as he stood up and slung an arm around her neck.

"I don't care what you do," she said, knowing he'd do whatever he wanted anyway.

"Sweet. I'll be right back." He winked at Olivier who studiously ignored him and then half dragged Riza to the back door with a bounce in his step. Once outside, he pulled away from her and leaned against the brick wall. Goosebumps raced up her arms, but the chill of the night felt good against her heated skin.

Havoc's lighter made an orange spark in the dimness of the alleyway they stood in, lit only by a lantern at the very end some ten feet away. The glow of his cigarette turned into ash as he put it to his lips and slowly took a drag. She crossed her arms over her chest and waited, knowing that he'd talk when he had himself gathered.

"I think I'm in love with her," he finally said.

Riza nearly choked on her breath. "In love?" She could almost understand a fickle infatuation, but love? _Havoc_ in love? He'd seemed severely allergic to the idea of it when they'd been together, and he'd known that explicitly romantic feelings were the last thing she was going to indulge in. Those few times he'd sputtered out the what ifs of loving her, with a flushed face, expecting her to reply. She'd stared at him wide-eyed, their skin pressed together in the dark, knowing full well that it was impossible anyway. "Don't say that."

"You're right," he'd whisper back as he kissed her, "I'm sorry."

Now, he grinned and she could see the whiteness of his teeth in the dark. "Jealous?"

She scowled instantly. "Don't be stupid."

"You're right. That was stupid." He sighed and held the cigarette between his fingers. "I don't know how else to describe it, Riza. She's. . .I know she's a hard ass but there's something about her."

Riza stared at him, wishing there was more light so she could read his expression. Right now, all she could see was his profile in the dark, staring ahead at the wall in front of them. "There'd have to be something about her considering she has the social skills of a grizzly bear."

"I like my women aggressive."

"Clearly."

"She hardly even talks to me. Can barely stand to look me in the eye. And yet, with her, I just. . .feel it. Ya know?" He put the cigarette to his lips again and then breathed out.

She had to take a moment to rub her head. This secretive little love triangle was going to wear her out if she was the middle-ground confidant. Not that she minded, because she liked to be of use to her friends, but it would be exhausting and potentially painful for everyone involved.

"I don't know," she whispered.

He was quiet for a moment. "Oh. Right." Another moment as he kissed his cigarette. "What do I do, Riza?"

She was almost amused that he was asking her for advice, particularly because she was the least skilled when it came to any sort of love. Her father had forsaken her as a child, paying more mind to his extensive research as she kept the house for him; any love she'd held for him had died along with her mother, before her memories were even concrete.

Havoc had been special to her, but no more special than he was now. A friend she cared for deeply, someone she'd hate to lose. Just because there had been more intimate between them than the conversation they were having now didn't mean that it was love.

After a moment of contemplation, she said, "You do realize who you're talking to, right?"

He sighed and threw the butt of his cigarette on the ground, snuffing it out with his boot. "You're the cleverest person I know. I thought I might as well take a crack at it."

"If it's meant to be, it'll happen," she told him with as much faith as she had on the matter. "No need to rush into things."

His body suddenly tightened and she sensed an unwelcomed change in conversation.

"I could die any day, Hawkeye," he said unflinchingly. She could feel her muscles become taut, her jaw clenching. "I could die without having ever loved somebody in this world. And now that I think I might have finally found it. . .the thought of dying without her actually knowing, even if she hates my guts, is unbearable."

"Don't you say that," she spat, stepping in front of him and leaning in his face. "Don't you _dare_ say that. You're not going to die. Not tomorrow, not next year. You're going to live to be an old, married man with twenty children and a dog. Do you understand me?" Her voice was hot and fierce, unbridled and louder than she wanted it to be. His words cut across her mind over and over and each time it made her even more furious. "You're not going to die, Havoc."

His eyes glittered in the darkness. "You never know for sure."

"_I_ know. I'm not going to let you die."

He frowned at her and pushed away from the wall, standing close enough to her now that she could feel his body heat. "I'm not worth protecting, Riza. Get your priorities straight."

She stood her ground firmly. "Not until you straighten yours. Now get your ass back in there and stop having idiotic thoughts; you're on a date, remember?"

He blinked at her for a moment before shaking his head with a slight tick to his mouth. "You're incredible." Her anger froze as he wrapped an arm around her neck and pulled her head in, planting his lips against her forehead. She thought it should have made her uncomfortable like his closeness usually did, but this was Havoc. . . and he was in love with someone else. "Thank you."

She yanked herself away and leaned against the opposite wall. "Go on, lover boy."

A laugh pushed through his mouth. "You coming back?"

"Not yet. I want to be alone for a while."

"Alright. Don't be too long."

The eye roll was automatic. "Yes, Commander."

He laughed again and then disappeared back into the building, leaving her alone in the alleyway. Ugh, her head ached and her chest ached and she wanted to get out of there. Go somewhere else, feel something besides this impending dread that Havoc words had drudged up through the fragile film of happiness that had spread across her for the night.

She began thinking, as she leaned there against the wall with her head in her hands, that maybe he wasn't so far off. Maybe death was around the corner and none of them knew. With the Commander's big plan that he mentioned to her, she might not even come back alive. And it bothered her more than it should have. If she died, a few people might be sad, a few people might mourn her, but what kind of mark did she leave upon the world?

Nothing. She'd done nothing but kill murderers since she was twenty years old; that was the only job she'd ever had, the only thing to her name. So what was the point of her life? What was she doing with herself? There was nothing here in front of her, nothing to reach for. She was just Riza, a woman who knew how to use a gun better than she knew how to use her heart, and that was incredibly frustrating.

A groan pulled up from her throat as she lowered her hands from her face and stared at the ground. "What am I doing?" she said aloud.

"Looks to me like you're standing in a dark alleyway alone."

Her eyes sharpened as her head jerked up to look at the bulky figure of a man that was silhouetted against the street lantern. She cursed herself internally for being so careless; her thoughts had been too deep for her to have heard his approach and that was dangerous. That was how people died.

"So it would seem. I'm not particularly looking for any conversation, thank you," she said in a civil manner, hands twitching toward the revolver hiding just under the slit of her skirt.

The man sauntered toward her. "Relax, sweetheart, I'm not looking for any conversation either." His teeth glittered in the dark when he grinned at her.

She glared at him, unfazed by his advances. "You don't want to do that." Her hand slipped under the slit and touched the cool metal of the handle. She really didn't want to shoot anyone tonight but if he so much as laid a finger on her, she couldn't make any promises.

He leaned in toward her, placing an arm on one side of her head as she pressed against the wall. Her stomach churned sickeningly as his breath wafted under her nose, rank and wretched and tinged with alcohol. It was a good thing she hadn't eaten much since breakfast.

"Oh yeah? And what are you going to do about it?" The gun was at his forehead in an instant, the cool cylinder pressing a red circle upon his skin. His hands immediately went up. "Hey, sweetheart, I'm not looking for a fight."

"No, but you are looking for something that I'm not willing to give," she snapped at him, tightening her hold on the gun. "You press the matter and I pull the trigger, you got it?"

He backed away, hands still in the air. "I got it, I got it."

The barrel trained on him, she began to step away. The air was tight, full of tension and she could see him calculating, reading her, waiting for an opening. She may not be trained in close combat, but she was damn good with a gun and he was a fool for thinking otherwise. So when he took a step toward her, she fired a round that grazed his ear and he howled in pain, immediately cupping the side of his face.

"Step away," she said in a completely calm voice, almost void of any warning at all. A statement.

"You bitch," he groaned, the blood slipping between his fingers.

She kept the gun pointed, finger poised. "Next time it'll be your forehead. Walk away, sir."

"You dumb bitch," he said a little louder, a little more angrily. Her finger tensed as his body looked like he was about to leap at her, but before anything else could happen, another figure loomed up behind him and brought the glinting end of a gun down against the man's head. He crumpled instantly and she moved the gun up to the second stranger in the alley.

"Is that the kind of thanks I get for saving your life?" A voice came from the darkness, smooth and dark, and almost as if he was amused. "You're going to point a loaded gun at me?"

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**Thoughts are appreciated, but I just hope you guys all liked the chapter!**


	4. Chapter 3

**A/N:**Sorry it's taken a while to get the chapter out. End of the year madness! In any case, I had so much fun writing this chapter and I hope you like it! I'd love to hear your thoughts since this is an AU. I have so much planned for this story I'm so excited.

Eternal love for my beta, Liv. If it wasn't for her I think I'd cry.

Disclaimer: FMA is not mine

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Chapter 3

Riza lowered the gun marginally, keeping a sharp eye on the stranger. Just because he wasn't advancing and had knocked out the man who had come after her didn't mean he was trustworthy. The fact that she couldn't see his face - or, by extension, his intentions - didn't earn him any points in his favor. Her walls stayed up as she took a step backward.

"I don't recall asking to be saved." Her blood seemed to rush in her ears; she didn't feel particularly threatened, and she was confident with the gun in her hand, but two men in a row in a dark alley was about as bad as Riza's luck got and it made her nervous.

The stranger stared at her for a moment before chuckling with a tinge of incredulity and maybe even a hint of nervousness. Her ears went hot at the tips because she didn't see what was so funny, and if there was one thing that she hated, it was being the butt of anyone's joke.

"What are you laughing at?" she asked, half curious, half outraged, still pointing the gun in his direction.

"I wasn't expecting you to say that," he told her honestly as he shoved his weapon into the waistband of his pants at the small of his back. She could have sworn he was still staring at her. It really bothered her that she couldn't see his face; she could see the general outline, but his features were a mystery. Finally deciding that this idiot was not going to attack her, she pulled the slit of her skirt aside and re-holstered the gun.

He seemed to notice the movement, because his voice became slightly more relaxed. "So you aren't going to shoot me."

"No." She crossed her arms over her chest. It struck her in the back of her mind that maybe it wasn't the best idea to have this conversation only feet from the unconscious man who had just tried to assault her, but she was at ease. "It would be more trouble than you're worth. That is, if you decide to keep your hands to yourself."

His shock silenced him for a moment. "I saved your life; at the very least, I saved your dignity. Most people would be a little more grateful."

She raised her eyebrow. "If anything, you saved_ his_ life." She pointed at the unconscious man. "I had everything completely under control." Her annoyance was flaring; who did he think he was? Even worse, he clotted her into a group of, presumably, "most" people and Riza was the farthest thing from normal, even by the standards back in the compound.

_Most people_ weren't trained snipers who spent hours looking down the scope of a rifle; _most people_ didn't smell like gunpowder and unflinchingly end lives. _Most people_ went to parties every weekend before they settled down, got married and had children. _Most people_ had menial jobs - office work, waitressing, running errands; their biggest problems were what was to be cooked for dinner - not whose head their next bullet would go through.

Riza wasn't from that world; even before Commander Grumman had taken her under his wing and brought her into the world of the Resistance, she'd been much different from other girls in school. She knew she didn't fit there - that she didn't fit anywhere, really - and it was an insult to _most people_ to call her one. The more she thought about it, the more irritated she became.

After another few moments of silence, he took a hesitant step toward her. "You aren't from around here, are you?"

"What does that have to do with anything?"

He seemed caught off guard by her bluntness. "Most of the people in this area know who I am," he explained awkwardly as he scratched the back of his neck with a gloved hand.

"Well, pardon me if I've wounded your ego." She was anxious and her sarcasm came out scathing.

"On the contrary," he responded almost instantly. "It's refreshing, actually." The unconscious man began to stir, groaning, and Riza suddenly felt the gaze of the lucid stranger on her. "We should probably get out of here."

She tried to ignore the heat in her face and glared at him, though if he could see the expression was beyond her. "_We_ are not going anywhere," she said firmly._ "I_ am going back inside to find my friends." She reached for the doorknob but the stranger placed his hand against the door, holding it shut; in less than a second, she whipped out the gun and pressed to his chest. "You really don't want to mess with me, sir."

"Whoa, hey, those things aren't toys," he said, immediately throwing his hands up in the air, even as his posture remained otherwise relaxed. He was so close that she could feel the heat of his body through the chilly air, smell his warmth as if he was pressed to her nose, and feel his heart racing where her weapon was pressed to it.

"You are a stranger to me," she went on, though his words implied that she didn't know how to use a gun. _That_ was laughable. "I acknowledge the fact that you came here to play hero, but your services were unneeded. Step away from the door, please."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean - I wasn't trying to upset you," he promised, fumbling for the right words. "Let me make it up to you - I'll buy you a drink."

In shock, she almost dropped the gun. "Excuse you?"

"Let me buy you a drink," he repeated, with a little more confidence.

She shook her head. "No thank you; I don't need your charities." Her free hand clenched around the doorknob and she yanked on it violently, even though he wasn't really trying to stop her.

"It's not _charity_," he insisted with a bit of a chuckle in his voice. "If you won't let me save you, at least let me offer you my gratitude in saving _me_."

She turned around to deny him again and was caught off guard suddenly by being able to see his face. With the door opened now, his expression was bare to her, dark hair brushing across his forehead across his forehead. She blinked in surprise at the twinkle in his obsidian eyes and took a step toward the interior of the building because she hadn't expected someone so annoying to be so handsome, which frustrated her further.

"I'll take that as full permission," he said with a quick grin. She wordlessly moved aside so that he could enter and felt her face heating up when he shook his head and motioned for her to go first. She shivered as he closed the door behind him and followed her to the counter, to the same spot where she'd stood earlier. This was ridiculous and she was more annoyed than ever.

"I don't even know your name," she said irritably as he took a seat on the stool beside her. It would be so easy just to leave him and go back to her booth and her friends, but she was afraid the stranger would follow her, and she didn't know how to explain that. Telling them that she'd been cornered in an alley alone by a man with less than honorable intentions - despite her having it under control - would probably put a damper on things, which was the last thing she wanted.

He smiled again. She pressed the force of her glare even further at him. "Call me Roy."

Her glare intensified. "I don't believe we are on a first name basis. Your last name, sir?"

The look he shot her was exasperated this time. "Are you going to pull the gun on me again?"

Maybe he hadn't meant it that way, but she took it as a compliment. "Your name?"

"I'd rather keep that to myself for now, if you don't mind," he told her, his eyebrow quirking deviously at her stubbornness.

The bartender approached. "What can I get for you?"

"I'll have a scotch," Roy said, "and for the lady. . ."

Riza held her tongue, hoping to get across just how badly she did not want to be here.

He cleared his throat. "Er, make it two, please."

An uncomfortable silence settled between them despite the crooning of the music in the background while the bartender fixed their drinks. She looked at the glass of scotch with zero interest as it was placed in front of her, while Roy tossed back a swig almost instantaneously.

"Your name?" he said, almost shyly, glancing at her from the corner of his eye.

"Riza," she said at length, deciding that revealing her true name couldn't do much harm. "Tell me something, Roy."

He smiled a bit at her. There was something about the way his sloped eyes, the weight of the eyelids, the tangle of coal colored bangs in his eyelashes. "You'll have to specific, but I'd be happy to oblige."

"You said I saved you out there. I don't understand." She took a casual sip of her drink, savoring the taste and trying not to grimace at the burn as it went down. Music floated around them and she could feel arms and shoulders brushing her back as tangled masses of bodies teemed behind her, but her attention was on the strange, forthcoming man beside her.

"Ah," he murmured and then took another drink, dragging it out longer than the first before setting the half-full glass back down on the bar. "I was on a horrendous date. Dumb as a box of rocks."

"That's a charming way to describe a lady."

"Isn't it?" Catching her narrowed eyes - but apparently not her sarcasm - he added, "Don't worry; I got her a cab before I came to your rescue."

"Alright then," she said slowly. "So what do you want from _me_?"

That was the million dollar question. She wasn't used to being entertained for the sake of entertainment. Throughout her entire life, Riza had been nothing more than a tool. To her father, she was to keep his research hidden; to Havoc, she had been for physical and, at times, emotional gratification; to the entire Resistance, she was nothing more than their most valuable sharpshooter. With the exception of her friends, she was just a shadow of a human being, an object, worth very little, easily replaced when broken.

Besides all of that, she'd pointed a loaded gun at his chest. What kind of man sat down and had a drink with a woman who had threatened his life?

Roy raised an eyebrow, looking offended. "What makes you think I want something from you? Can't a man enjoy the company of an attractive woman without wanting something more from her?"

Infuriatingly, she felt her face flush; she didn't even register the compliment. "I didn't mean_ that_."

"Then what did you mean?"

"I mean - why are you talking to me?" She glared down into her drink, feeling so damn foolish for wasting her time pressing these questions on a stranger. Her thumbs ran up and down the cold glass, aware that he was watching the twitch of her hands. This was stupid, she shouldn't have indulged him; she should have lost him in the crowd. And even if she hadn't done that, she definitely should not have even asked that question.

A part of her was fiercely curious, though. Curious enough to keep her planted obstinately to her seat, waiting for him to answer.

"Because you are far more interesting than a box of rocks," he supplied and his honesty took her by surprise. "There are few people in this city with enough gall to point a gun at me, and even fewer who put me in my place without batting an eye. In my line of work, I rarely meet women as obstinate as you and I'm inclined to tell you that out of respect." He paused for a moment and she glanced at him from the corner of her eye, suddenly rendered immobile by his words. "Despite my interference back there in the alley, you handled everything with perfect grace. If I didn't say I'm impressed, I'd be lying."

Her thumbs slipped along the glass again as she straightened her shoulders slightly. He sounded sincere, and couldn't find any hint in his posture or his expression that said otherwise. Her irritation ebbed away.

"Thank you," she told him in a subdued voice. She felt strange; no one had quite praised her for being who she was before. It wasn't that people tried to change her, but that they pulled away or ignored the intracacies of her personality. And here this man she'd known for not even ten minutes, a complete stranger, was. . . _complimenting_ her on her stubbornness and audacity?

She lifted her drink to her lips and took another sip, unsure how to read Roy and what to think of the things he said to her.

He tossed back the last of his beverage and offered a crooked smile, one corner of his mouth endearingly favoring the right side. "So if you aren't from around here, where are you from?"

"Central," she replied automatically, looking up at him. It was the first answer anyone from the compound went to; Central was vastly populated and knowing everyone in the city was impossible, which made people harder to trace. Not that she was expecting trouble from Roy.

He seemed to expect this. "This your first time out to East City?"

"Yes." She kept her answer short and hoped he wouldn't pry; she hadn't exactly prepared a story with her friends to put up a front in case someone started poking around. Perhaps Roy was barely an acquaintance, but she could feel that his attention was on her, only her, and while she didn't normally like being in the spotlight, now she found herself wanting to answer his questions. The absolute focus in his eyes was new and strangely welcome.

"How do you like it?" he asked with sarcasm dripping from his words. He leaned toward her, resting his elbow on the counter top.

The memories of bodies crumpling after the thunder of her trigger raced through her mind and she shoved them away.

"I don't," she answered honestly.

He grinned again, but this time it was a little twisted. "Me either."

"You don't like your job?"

"It's complicated."

She nodded; that was something she could understand that all too well. "I see."

"Do you?" His eyes searching her expression. It was a wasted effort on his part; Riza was an expert at controlling and masking her feelings. He would find nothing on her face but the mild interest that kept her rooted to her chair, even though inwardly she was taken aback. How was she supposed to answer that?

"I. . .don't like my job either," she confessed, cringing internally. She was walking a thin line with so many truths.

His expression became knowing. "And it's complicated."

She nodded and found herself staring at him, and she saw the understanding on his face. He was looking at her with empathy even though he couldn't know what her job entailed; he couldn't know anything about her. Her heart leaped in her chest. What was she doing?

This was wrong; she had to get out of here. Talking to Roy had been a bad move on her part. He was treating her differently than anyone else ever had and that was creating an inkling of warmth inside her that she couldn't afford to nurse. Time to squash this, forget him.

"Thank you for the drink," she said, sliding from her chair, suddenly anxious. "My friends will be wondering where I am."

He stared for a moment. "I understand." Though he didn't look pleased about it.

She tucked a piece of hair behind her ear and extended her hand to him, forcing herself to look at his nose because his eyes held _too much_ - of what, she didn't want to know - for her to handle. "It was nice meeting you, Roy."

It was a mistake to shake his hand; the moment his encased hers and shook it gently, his warmth melted into her skin and a shiver ran down her back. Even after she pulled away, she could feel the ghost of his heat wrapped around her hand and she clenched it into a fist, trying her best to ignore the swell of heat to her face.

"The pleasure was mine, Riza," he murmured, his eyes on her face. She noticed that he had his hand in a fist as well and she swallowed before nodding her head once and turning on her heel, quickly pushing away from him and through the mess of bodies to her table.

She'd been an idiot, but at least she'd extracted herself from the situation. Rebecca noticed her approach first and the relief was visible on her face. Riza placed her hands on the table and forced a smile as best as she could as the rest of her friends looked up at her.

"What took you so long?" Rebecca asked instantly. "We were worried something had happened to you."

Riza sat down next to her, ignoring the urge to look back at the bar on the other side of the room to see if Roy was still there, if she could see him at all, if he had watched her go. "I just got lost in thought."

Havoc's eyebrows furrowed at her from across the table; Riza Hawkeye rarely got lost in anything. The rest of the table seemed to buy her excuse, though, and conversation carried on for another half an hour. Through that entire time, she had to resist glancing back and force Roy from her thoughts. The way his hand had felt for those three seconds and the genuine curiosity he'd worn on his face.

_Riza, you talked to that man for fifteen minutes tops. You are being positively ridiculous, _she told herself harshly, nodding and faking a chuckle at a joke that Havoc had made.

_I know I am but I wasn't imagining anything, _she argued back. Somehow telling herself this seemed to make it all the more concrete and that bothered her. She needed to forget quickly, so she heartily downed a couple more drinks and staggered out of the dance hall, her arm entwined with Rebecca's.

"That was the most fun I've ever had," Rebecca announced in a bright voice as she, Riza, and Fuery walked arm in arm behind Havoc and Armstrong. Olivier looked like she had loosened up considerably since they arrived and instead of Havoc clinging to her, she at least now had her arm wrapped tolerably around his. Riza couldn't help but smile; the euphoric bounce in Havoc's step was hard to miss

"It came close!" Fuery agreed happily.

Riza nodded and clutched Rebecca closer, the alcohol in her system making her brain foggy, her high-heeled boots tapping harder against the concrete than they might have in her sober state. "It was nice to get away from the compound."

Rebecca sighed and awkwardly put her head on Riza shoulders as the three of them walked on. "We should do it more often."

When they reached the car, Armstrong was situated behind the wheel, being the least inebriated of the group. She looked tired, but Riza saw the softened edges of her lips as well. Her hands steady on the wheel for the drive back to the compound, the car was quiet save for the rumble of the engine, and Rebecca rested her head on Riza.

It had been a good night, all things considered, though even with the cloudy buzz in her head, Riza could still feel the echo of warmth on her hand, the heat in her face as Roy had looked at her. With her eyes closed, head on Becca's, she allowed herself to smile a bit. She supposed it would be okay to remember that much of him since she'd never see him again. And he had flattered her. There was nothing wrong with remembering flattery, even if she felt she didn't particularly deserve it.

Back at the compound, Havoc hugged Riza goodnight and walked Armstrong back to her room. Fuery smiled and slipped away while the two woman walked to their own room, the alcohol making their steps uneven. Rebecca collapsed on her bed and sighed deeply as Riza kicked out of her boots and let her hair out of the clip.

"Jean looks really happy with her, doesn't he?" Rebecca threw her arms over her face, smearing her makeup.

"He likes her a lot," Riza replied bluntly. Hiding Havoc's feelings from her was only going to hurt her more.

"Well, damn."

Riza undressed and slipped into her pajamas, part of her feeling anxious to go to bed, a part of her so tired she thought she was going to pass out. "I'm sorry, Becca."

With a wave of the hand, Rebecca sat up and shrugged. "As long as he's happy, I guess."

Both of them finished their bedtime rituals and Rebecca was snoring before her head even hit the pillow. Sighing as she turned out the light, Riza made her way to her bed through the dark and crawled into the sheets, burying her face against the pillow. She was thankful that the alcohol was fogging her thoughts and drifted into a dreamless sleep.


	5. Chapter 4

**A/N:** Yo! So a few quick things before we get this show on the road:

1) I have a full-time summer job, so updates will be even more sporadic than usual and for that I am extremely sorry. I love writing this story so much and I have up to chapter 7 written, it just takes a while to go through and edit it.

2) This is the unedited version of this chapter; I'll probably make changes to it as far as flow and a few other things go later on and repost this chapter, but there shouldn't be any significant changes.

3)The chapters are going to eventually get longer, I hope; sorry that this one is so short!

4) And lastly, I just want to say thank you so much for all the reviews and the alerts that I've received so far; I'm so honored to have so many people like my story so much and I wish I could properly express how happy you make me!

Sorry for the long A/N but it was necessary! I hope you enjoy the chapter and don't be afraid to drop your thoughts at the end!

Disclaimer: I do not own FMA

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Chapter 4

The entirety of Riza's body fought against the alertness that began to urge her eyelids to open. Her head ached with the pulse of her blood, but it wasn't crippling, and she pulled her blankets over her head and stifled the childish impulse to moan in protest. Her thoughts were more lucid this morning than they were last night and she knew exactly what this daybreak would bring.

She remained huddled under her sheets for ten minutes before the anxiety of this particular day worked into her system and she silently threw back the covers before rising from her bed and changing clothes. Rebecca groaned loudly in her sleep and turned over onto her stomach as Riza slipped into her boots and fastened her hair in a clip. It was still chilly so she tried to make little noise as possible as she donned her jacket and left the room.

As soon as she left the residential hallway, the noises were loud, rooms and halls filled with hurried talk as people scuttled around with their morning chores. The sun twinkled in through the dusty windows and Riza kindly stepped around the bustling bodies on her way to the assignment board near the check-in desk.

Many people offered her a smile or a good morning and she returned them with as much brightness as she could muster despite the situation. A frown fell across her face when she saw that she hadn't been slotted for any assignments that morning; instead, across the row on her name for the week, today was labeled: "seek instruction from O. Armstrong."

What the hell was Olivier going to be able to tell her that couldn't be written on her assignment board?

In a confused daze, she wandered into the dining hall and ate breakfast alone in the corner. It took a bit of strength to conjure up an appetite since the anxiety was squeezing at her stomach, but she knew she had to eat after the night she had. The coffee, at least, was easy to drink, and she had two cups black before clearing her dishes into the kitchen boy's bucket and leaving.

"Hawkeye!" A voice called for her as she was going up the stairs to the main floor. She looked up to see Armstrong standing there in her crisp uniform, harsh and unsmiling, blonde hair curling at the ends. "I will need you in my office in an hour."

"Yes, sir," Riza responded acutely. Olivier nodded and stalked off, no doubt to make sure she had others in line. Being the second highest up in the chain of command couldn't be a walk in the park, especially catering to the Commander's whims, and it made Riza's stomach twist nervously. If she was to seek instruction from Armstrong, then that meant she'd also have to deal with the Commander.

With an internal groan, she decided to visit the shooting range and practice a bit before receiving whatever assignment Olivier would have for her in an hour. The room was silent when she arrived, save for a single pair of footsteps that echoed against the walls. Riza selected a short-range weapon and grabbed a headset to protect her ears. When she turned around to approach a stall, she was only partially surprised to see Havoc with his own equipment in hand.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, her voice more confused than she felt.

He turned around, startled, and then laughed when he saw her. "Oh, hey, Hawkeye. You should know better than to sneak up on a man with a loaded gun."

She resisted the urge to snort at him. "I wasn't sneaking. It's not my fault you don't pay attention to your surroundings. Are you going to answer my question or not?"

Shaking his head, he loaded a cartridge into the gun with a smile and then placed the weapon on the table. "I was told to be in Armstrong's office in an hour and I thought I'd kill some time."

Her eyes blinked at him. "What?"

He nodded. "I know, it sure beats the hell out of me."

She couldn't help but stare at him for a moment, trying to process. What could Armstrong - no, it was the Commander pulling the strings here, not her - possibly want with Havoc? It made sense to call in Riza since he had her on a damn leash, but to also take Havoc in increased her anxiety level just thinking about it. Whatever Grumman was planning, it wasn't going to be like before, and it seemed that Riza wasn't the only one getting swept up into his game.

"Hey, you feeling okay?" Havoc asked, watching as her face paled.

She put her gear down on the table and nodded a little too vigorously. "I'm fine."

His eyes narrowed. "I know you better than that, Riza. Speaking of which, I want to know what happened last night. _You_ don't just get lost in thought."

The change in conversation wasn't exactly welcome. Surely she couldn't reveal to him what had happened; her heart thumped hard against her chest just thinking about the man with the dark hair and the kind eyes and the understanding on his face. She wanted to keep Roy a secret, not because she was ashamed or embarrassed, but because she had been an idiot, and to dwell on him would be to dwell on the surge of incoherent emotion that he'd created the night before.

"I just got a drink at the bar," she said smoothly, meeting his eyes to appear truthful. She had the best poker face. "I wanted to be alone."

He frowned at her. "You're always alone, Hawkeye, and I get that you just aren't fond of crowds but I gotta wonder. Doesn't that ever get lonely? Being by yourself all the time?" His blue eyes bore into her and she found it difficult to return the gaze and not look away.

"Of course not." Her lies were impeccable. "That's when I'm at my best."

Havoc still didn't look convinced, and she wondered what he could possibly thinking, when he suddenly smiled. "Well, alright, I suppose. As long as you're happy. You up for a little target practice?"

She rolled her eyes and allowed her teeth to flash from between her lips. "I thought you'd never ask."

::::

The two of them crossed the threshold of Olivier Armstrong's office exactly one hour later. She was on the phone, talking tersely and in a brash manner with her eyebrows drawn in deeply. Havoc was hopeless, grinning at her and making hearts at her with his eyes the second the door closed behind them.

_Could he be any more of an idiot?_ Riza thought good-naturedly. The knots in her stomach began to twist tighter as Armstrong put the phone back in its cradle and looked up at them severely. Though it was an awful thing to think, Riza knew that she'd be twenty times less anxious if she was out on a field mission and not in Grumman's second commanding officer's office in that moment.

"Commander Grumman is on a train heading toward East City right now and for whatever forsaken reason, he has requested both of you as his personal bodyguards for the duration of his stay here in my compound," Olivier said pointedly, looking caustic. Her eyes flashed when she looked at Havoc and her scowl deepened.

"He requested me?" Havoc said incredulously, blinking at her dumbly. Riza felt something hot and angry growing inside of her, resisting the urge to clench her fists. What the hell did Grumman want Havoc for? The two men knew each other since Havoc was such a close friend to Riza - and given their intimate history - but the Commander had hardly paid attention to him. It frustrated her that she couldn't figure Grumman out; even more that he was roping her only precious people into whatever twisted plans he was concocting.

"That's what I said, Havoc, now pick your jaw up off the ground." Armstrong growled, standing up and leaning over her desk with her palms flat on the wooden surface. She was pulled tight; the tension in her shoulders and the stiffness in her back were easy to spot and Riza took a moment to appreciate Olivier for what she did. It couldn't be easy running the eastern compound, especially under Grumman's command.

"But I'm not even the second best shot here," he protested, still in shock.

"Precision isn't what Grumman is looking for," Armstrong informed him. Her eyes slid sideways at Riza. "He picked someone Hawkeye trusted. He may be hard to understand, but he's got his reasons. Both of you are to take a town vehicle into East City and pick him up at the train station immediately. He will have other guards with him, but they have their own orders. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," Havoc and Riza responded in unison, giving her a little salute. Riza turned to leave the office, pushing down the welling panic at her situation - Grumman's personal bodyguard! He was going to drive her mad! What made him think this was a good idea? - when Olivier's voice came out less harsh, and she paused.

"I want to make this clear right now that I do not make it a habit of mine to get involved with lower ranking members of the Resistance for casual fun," she said. When Riza turned around, Armstrong's eyes were fixed solidly on Havoc, who's face had to have been going up in flames. "Understood?"

Havoc nodded too enthusiastically and Riza murmured her understanding before she walked out of the office with him stumbling along behind her. They shut the door and then began to make their way to the parking lot; Riza tried not to think about what they were going to do. It made it easier to take each step. After strapping various guns and holsters to their bodies, they entered the garage, dodging around the people working busily to prepare for the VIP they were about to pick up.

"She basically just shot me down, didn't she?" Havoc sighed as they chose the blue town car, different from last night's vehicle.

Riza was grateful for this conversation; thinking about Grumman was something she could not do but talking about Havoc's lady problems was. "I don't know about that," she said, trying to be hopeful.

"I still want to tell her." He started the engine.

She crossed her arms over her chest. "Then you should."

"But I should wait a while so it's not so weird."

"If that's what you think."

He looked at her from the corner of his eye as the car bumped along the dirt road. "Last night you told me to let time do its thing."

She shrugged, trying for nonchalance. "I just think you should be happy." There was nothing more she wanted for Havoc than for him to be happy; she could even say that his happiness meant more to her than her own.

A strained chuckle slipped through his lips. "You _would_ say that." His eyes suddenly flashed to her and he offered something of a smile. "I'm sorry about the assignment." She sighed and nodded. He knew that she wasn't fond of her grandfather - she'd made that very clear, even to Grumman himself.

"I'm sorry you got pulled into this," she responded, folding and unfolding her hands in her lap. Staring at her fingers, she felt a rush of warmth as she remembered last night, shaking Roy's hand in what was meant to be a quick show of appreciation. Now, the action had caused repercussions that nagged at her, piling on top of the anxiety she already had. She barely knew him; why was it he kept popping up in her thoughts every ten minutes?

"I'm not," Havoc told her. "It confuses the hell out of me, but the closer I am to you, the better I'll feel. I trust in your feelings enough to not trust Grumman in the slightest." He didn't look at her, instead staring ahead at the road with his focused eyes. She wondered if that was fair to him; that her dislike and distrust of the Commander was also eroding Havoc's judgment, but Havoc was a grown man, and it was likely that the less he trusted Grumman, the less disappointment he would face.

"So you are basically going to be using me as a monitor," she said with a slight twitch of humor in her voice.

"Basically," he grinned.

They were silent for the rest of the trip into the city and Riza's mind went in circles from Grumman to last night. She wanted to forget both, but they were obstinate and stubborn and could not be removed. It could almost account for torture though her memories of last night were not all that horrible, though what had gone through her mind was terrifying to consider.

The streets were more crowded today; the sun shone and lit the crowds in buttery tones with a breeze that for once promised summer. People bustled about, especially closer to the train station on the west side of the city, and the weather seemed to be affecting their general demeanor.

Riza may have been the only one whose mood did not fit the atmosphere, and the closer they got to the station, the lower she sank in her seat and the tighter her fists became. By the time they finally pulled into a parking stall, Havoc had a cigarette dangling from his mouth and she was glaring hard out the windshield.

"Do you have any more?" she asked, as she turned to look pointedly at the stick of tobacco.

He rolled his eyes. "You hate smoking."

"I hate that we are here even more."

Opening the door, he sighed, "No, I don't have anymore."

She followed his lead. "Liar."

After shutting their doors, he came around to meet her by the corner of the engine with a smirk. "It's for your own good, Hawkeye."

_For her own good_. She thought that keening at the top of her lungs and bolting from the scene was also for her own good. That did not mean it was going to happen. "Since when do you know what's best for me?" she countered grumpily. Each step they took toward the doors of the station made her feet feel like lead; she couldn't seem to get quite enough purchase from the concrete. It was like she was walking on quicksand.

"I've been your friend for eight years," he retorted, "I think I know a thing or two about you."

She fell into a disgruntled silence and Havoc's arm brushed her elbow as they closed the space between them to avoid colliding into other people in the crowd. When they got to the docking station, people were exiting the gaping side of the train in a flood of fabric and chatter. Her stomach was a knot of anxiety and dread as her keen eyes searched the nameless faces. Time stopped when her eyes caught on the gray hair and the reflection off his glasses. Blood rushed in her ears. How she'd give anything to be anywhere but here!

It took him longer to spot her and Havoc longer than it had taken her, and she invisibly cringed when his eyes met hers and he smiled. There was nothing wrong with the smile and it seemed genuine enough so why did her stomach turn at the curl of his lips?

Havoc spat his cigarette out and snubbed it under his boot before giving Commander Grumman a salute. The old man looked entertained by this, flanked on either side by Resistance members dressed for inconspicuousness. "At ease, Mr. Havoc, before people start staring."

"Right, sorry, sir." Havoc looked flustered, trying to please the Commander, and Riza would have laughed at the expression on his face if she wasn't so terribly uncomfortable herself.

Grumman turned to his granddaughter, his teeth shining from under his mustache, before he turned to tell his companions that they were no longer needed and that they were to find their own way to the compound. It went without saying that they'd have to be sneaky about it.

Once they were dispersed, Grumman threw and arm around Riza's shoulder and began to lead her out of the train station, Havoc following behind with a certain amount of awkwardness in his step.

"There's my favorite girl!" Grumman said with a chuckle, being boisterous with the affectionate tone in his voice.

"It's really good to see you again!" Riza lied with enthusiasm. However hard she tried, she couldn't quite manage to make the smile on her face feel natural.

"Did you miss me?" he countered gracefully as Havoc opened the backseat of the car.

"Of course!" She would have to wash her mouth out with soap when they got back to the compound.

She slammed his door shut once he was in and the smile dropped from her face as she and Havoc climbed into their front seats. The car rumbled to life under them and Grumman chuckled, leaning forward in his seat. Riza kept her eyes stubbornly to the front.

"You've either improved on your acting skills or you are genuinely happy to see me. I'm not sure which one is more likely than the other."

She almost snorted in disbelief. "If the mystery is going to keep you up at night, I'll be more than happy to tell you which it is."

"Oh calm down, Riza, there's no need to do this verbal fencing so early on."

It took all her strength not to grit her teeth and she took several deep breaths to try and relax the tension in her shoulders. She leaned back against the seat and closed her eyes, feeling Havoc dart a look at her as he began to steer their vehicle out of town.

"You're right," she murmured stubbornly. "I apologize."

Though she couldn't see, she could feel it that he was smiling. For the entire ride back to the compound she listened to Grumman make small talk with Havoc - they were discussing some sports team, of all things - and let her mind wander to something pleasant.

It was disturbing that the only thing she could manage to think of was how she'd met Roy last night.


	6. Chapter 5

**A/N:** Wow an update! Again, this is an unedited chapter but well I think I caught everything. Also, my camp job is crazy and I'm tired as hell but it's a lot of fun! I hope you guys all like the next chapter; I'm trying not to rush the romance, but I needed to establish the connection Roy and Riza feel with each other to make this chapter feel right. Deep sigh.

Anyway, let me know what you think? I appreciate everyone who has read and favorited and reviewed so far! Thank you so much!

Disclaimer: I do not own FMA.

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Chapter 5

Her fingers were clenched white-knuckled over the steering wheel of the town car, stiff with more tension than even when she was poised to take a life. What in _the hell_ was she doing here?

Riza stared ahead at the building through the windshield, incredulous that of all the places she would have driven to in East City, it was this particular bar her subconscious chose. It looked different in the daytime than it did at night, though the crimson sunset was elongating shadows and the neon lights of the club flickered on.

_Subconscious, my ass,_ she thought sourly, angry that she was doing this, that a part of her must have condoned this kind of behavior for her to have pulled up and parked the vehicle in front of the same bar that she and her friends had visited two nights ago.

_You don't even know if he's going to be inside._ She gritted her teeth and loosened her grip on the wheel only to toss her head back against the seat._ He probably doesn't even remember your name._

_I'm not here for him,_ she argued back at herself with rising frustration. Her eyes burned at the ceiling of the car as she tried to repress the anger and anxiety that seemed to be inevitable in her life anyway.

_Like hell. You didn't come to sit on a stool and get drunk by yourself. _

She hissed out loud. So maybe she hadn't stopped thinking about the way his hand had felt around hers and maybe she hadn't been able to forget the absolute curiosity on his face or how his eyebrows had knit together in understanding. Grumman's last announcement was eating her from the inside and of all the places she decided to run to, it was this place with the memory of a man she barely knew.

This was a bad idea, but she didn't know what else to do. She couldn't stand another moment - no, another second - in the compound, even if Havoc understood and Rebecca was a perfectly capable candidate to go to for confessing what the commander had said. But Grumman was there and he was breathing down her back after only a day and she was going mad just thinking about him.

Her head fell forward and she held her folded hands to her forehead, trying to take deep breaths. To calm herself and consider rational thought.

It wouldn't hurt to go in and get a drink since she did drive all the way out here. Actually, that was probably the best thing to do since she was familiar with this bar in particular and going back to the compound at the moment was simply out of the question. Maybe she'd find a hotel room and stay the night in East City to give herself more time to cool off and come to terms with Grumman's orders.

Riza inhaled deeply and dropped her hands from her face to turn the vehicle off. She refused to let herself think about another reason why she might want to go inside, why she even came here in the first place, because it terrified her and that was not an emotion she was well acquainted with. It terrified her that though her entire life was back at the compound, she chose to come here, to the only place she had ever seen _him_.

What was he to her? A man, a stranger, who had assisted her with untangling her from attempted assault. He should have been nothing more than a passing hero in her thoughts, if that. She shouldn't even know his name and she especially shouldn't be thinking about how nicely it had felt in her mouth as she'd shaped the word and said goodbye to him.

Scolding herself for her thoughts half-heartedly - because clearly, it was a losing battle anyway - she took her handbag and checked the contents for her wallet and her pistol, then reached down to feel the ridge of her second gun in her thigh holster. Satisfied, she took another deep breath and held onto it for a moment before exhaling and getting out of the car.

Her boots were practically soundless against the concrete and she gripped the strap of her purse with anxious fingers, suddenly consumed by nervousness. That was ridiculous. Why should she be nervous to go inside and order a drink? She was a grown woman for goodness sake.

She entered the bar and she wasn't surprised to find it fairly empty considering it was a weekday and most people were at home trying to relax after a long day of work. The music crooned in the background, soft and low, and some of the tables near the dance floor had a few couples talking over an early dinner. There were two figures seated at the bar and as she approached, she realized that the one sitting closest to the wall had a terribly familiar slope to his shoulders and her heart seemed to crawl into her mouth.

_He's here._

Before she could lose her nerve, she started toward him and tried not to think about what she was doing. If she thought about it, then she'd over-think it and that wouldn't do. She lunged at the seat next to him and took it fearlessly as if she wasn't scatter-brained and anxious and just a general mess of undecipherable emotions, placing her bag on the counter.

He turned, startled, toward the sudden flurry of movement and she saw his eyes widen sizably from the corner of her vision when he glanced at her. But there was something else that flickered across his face, something close to satisfaction or maybe even triumph. Either way, she didn't exactly know what to make of _that._

"_Riza_?" he said, perhaps a little too loudly. She felt an abrupt rush of surprise jolt through her at the sound of her name. _He remembered_.

"Hello, Roy," she replied calmly, though her voice was still calloused from the stress she felt, allowing herself to smile slightly at him.

He still seemed taken aback, flustered, as he ran a hand through his hair and tugged at the tie under the collar of his shirt. Her eyes raked over him briefly and she could appreciate that her memory of his face hadn't quite done him justice. "I didn't think - I didn't expect to see you again," he said clumsily.

"I could say the same," she admitted. She waved down the bartender. "This doesn't seem like your usual scene." _Why would I say that; I know nothing about him._ Her eyes were mentally rolling at her words. He was going to think she was an idiot.

"I like to try new things, meet new people," he told her with a quirk of his eyebrow, finding a handle on his surprise as he leaned against the counter.

She ordered her drink and watched as the bartender made it. "Natural curiosity?" she asked, shooting a sideways glance at Roy, who seemed to have trouble taking his eyes off her.

He grinned. "Something like that."

With a nod, she began to fish through her purse for some money when the bartender walked away with the correct change in his hand and a thank you. She looked up at Roy who was still smiling and frowned.

"You bought me my drink last time," she said. "You didn't have to do that again."

"I wanted to," he shrugged and then raised an eyebrow at her with an odd sort of smile. "You won't let me save you from a drunkard and you won't let me pay for your drink. Do you always resist common courtesies from other people?"

What a strange question. "I don't see why I should expect people to go out of their way for me," she said curtly, taking a sip of the alcohol and repressing a smile at the taste. She shot him a look. "Especially when I don't even know their last name."

The expression on his face smoothed out and she felt his eyes slowly move from her forehead to her chin. "You don't receive any common courtesies in the first place, do you?"

She took another drink and pressed her thumbs against the cold glass, hoping it might cool her off. It was so hot inside this room. "There really isn't such a thing as common courtesy where I come from," she murmured.

"That's unfortunate," he said and then smirked as he leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest, his drink in his hand. "I guess it's my duty to bestow as many as I can upon you."

"I think you've done enough, thank you."

His eyes were dancing, she noticed as she looked at him. He was absolutely entertained. "Do you usually venture out to public bars on weeknights or is this a special occasion?"

She shook her head as Grumman's orders flittered across her thought process. "Nothing unordinary," she told him dryly.

It was incredible that he picked up on her sarcasm so instantly. "Work stress, huh?" Roy said casually. She looked at him, astonished that he'd been able to figure it out so easily, and he shrugged. "Why do you think _I'm_ out at a bar on the weeknight?"

"There are plenty reasons." Of course, she couldn't name one.

"Well alright then, let me consider this. Judging by the absence of a ring on your left hand, I'd say marital problems are out. You've now accompanied me twice for a drink without fanfare which leads me to believe that there is no lover that you are having trouble with; that, in fact, there is no lover at all. And last time we talked you mentioned how complicated your job was. The only other thing that could possibly drive you to a bar in the middle of a week perhaps might have something to do with a family member you don't quite get along with."

Her heart hammered once in her chest, hard. How the hell did he do _that_?

"Am I wrong?" His lips lifted in a crooked smirk as he took a swig of the dark liquid in his glass.

She couldn't let him get the best of her; not with that arrogant look on his face. "Perhaps I'm simply an alcoholic," she insisted stubbornly. "Or perhaps I do have a lover and he is away at -"

"Do you?" he asked intensely, interrupting her. He was leaning toward her now, though it should not have been close enough to be messing with her mind the way it actually was and she had to think a moment before she remembered how to take a breath.

"What?"

"Do you have a lover?"

"That is an extremely personal question." Instantly, she got bitterly curious and scowled. "Do you?"

"Regrettably, I don't have time for such frivolous things," he responded, but his voice was low and his eyes were trained on her so sharply she wondered how they hadn't pierced right through her yet. "Your answer, Miss Riza?"

"I," she swallowed when her eyes darted to his lips for a moment and heat rushed through her. She felt foolish and childish and she knew that she wasn't acting like herself but all she could suddenly think was that it had been years since she'd been kissed. "No. I don't."

He widened the space between them again, thankfully, sitting back in his chair and the smirk reappeared. "Then I was right."

She blinked at Roy, frowning at how wholly insufferable he was. "You don't sound surprised."

"That's because I'm _always_ right," he gloated with a wink.

With a resigned sigh she looked down into her drink before tipping it to her mouth again. She took a big gulp this time and it burned as the liquid poured down her throat. Her head buzzed a little and she also leaned back in her chair. "It's my grandfather," she mumbled. It was hard for her to open up; she wasn't used to exposing herself or her emotions and she liked to keep it that way.

But there was something about Roy that made her want him to know. She wanted him to know everything about her.

Roy was brilliantly picking up on all her cues and leaned forward at the solemn tone of her voice.

"He came to visit me since he knows that I've been out here for a while," she continued nervously. "Today he told me point blank that I would be moving back with him when he left, and to be quite honest, we aren't chummy." She wouldn't forget how her stomach had dropped when Grumman had uttered those words.

"You'll be moving back to Central with me when my duty is done here," he'd said in a tone that hadn't left it up for discussion. "Best be prepared for our departure; it could be two days or it could be two weeks." Then the old man had the gall to grin at her. "You'll do good at the compound in Central, Riza. Sharpshooters to train and military bastards with your name on them."

The thought of it disgusted her; that she was being forced to transfer based on her skill at murdering people, however guilty they may be at corrupting the government. She didn't relish killing people; couldn't smile at the thought of it even if she was taking down people that did more bad in life than they'd done good. They still had families. Still loved and hurt just like anyone else.

"He can't make you do anything you don't want to do," Roy spoke up with furrowed eyebrows.

She wished it was that easy. "It's hard to say no to him."

He stared at her for several moments and she could practically hear the gears in his head clunking along. Searching his expression, she wondered what kind of hypothesis he was gathering about her life and what he thought about her. "Then, I'm sorry," he finally murmured.

She turned away from him, the curiosities in those dark eyes and took another gulp of the alcohol in her glass. "Why are you here? It seems fair that you should answer truthfully after I told you."

"You don't believe it's work related stress?" he scoffed.

"No."

"Of course you don't."

"You didn't believe me."

"I did. I just didn't think it was the whole truth."

It was startling how intuitive he was; she hadn't met anyone quite like him in her life. "You are perceptive, sir."

He frowned suddenly. "Don't call me that."

She nodded awkwardly, surprised by the irritation in his voice. "I apologize."

After a few moments of silence he groaned suddenly and rubbed at his face. "Damn it, I didn't mean to sound like an ass. I'm usually quite charming but it's embarrassingly difficult for me to retain my composure around you as it is so accept my apologies. Please. I shouldn't have snapped at you like that."

Her curiosity was piqued. "What are you embarrassed about?" She tried to think about something he said that was particularly out of line or personal, but he'd been confidently composed ever since he'd recovered the surprise at seeing her again.

His eyes met hers and a shiver shook her to her core at the look she saw there. It occurred to her suddenly that he wasn't talking about something he'd said, but about something he'd done. She felt like she knew, somehow, what he was going to say next. She could read it in his eyes, the way he was gazing at her made her knees weak.

"I came here last night as well," he told her softly.

"You must really like it here then," she replied in a voice just as gentle, perhaps a little warmer than his, though she didn't believe her words for a moment.

"Not particularly. You see, Riza, you are quite unlike any other woman I've ever met and that is a problem."

"A problem." She breathed out lightly, unable to find it in her to be offended when his voice was drawing her in and his expression was exposing the truth right in front of her eyes.

"Yes. Because due to your intrigue, I can't seem to stop thinking about you." He was too honest. Too open.

"How irritating." Her heart was sprinting.

"Exactly," he whispered.

"So you came to this bar these past two nights because you were hoping I'd show up again," she said, knowing she was right as the words left her mouth. How long had he waited last night before leaving? How long had he been here today before she appeared?

"Yes," he said without a single ounce of hesitation, his eyes somehow managing to grow even darker than they already were. "And you were looking for me, too."

Her knees shook even though she was sitting on a stool and she couldn't make any sense of her thoughts even if she wanted to. Blood rushing in her ears, heartbeat racing a mile a minute. "Yes."

She drew in a sharp breath, heat blazing a trail through her veins. She never let anyone get this close to her, not since she'd split with Havoc, had never had the desire to be close to another human being. But he was electricity and fire, lightning in a thunderstorm, new and uncharted territory. Perhaps this was too dangerous for her.

"I should probably go," she murmured, eyes flashing.

Roy's jaw seemed to tighten and she watched with a reserved sort of awe as the muscles pulled under his skin. "Don't go. Not yet. I'm sorry if - I mean, perhaps I shouldn't have. . .You know, I -. " He took a breath and she had to suppress a rising chuckle with thinned lips; for such a smooth charmer, her certainly had his fair share of fumbles. "If I scared you with what I said, I'm sorry. We can forget I ever said any of it."

"I'm not scared," she told him truthfully. It would have been hypocritical of her to have been terrified by the fact he'd been waiting for her for days when she'd driven to this bar in the hopes of finding him herself. "It's just that I left home rather unexpectedly and I don't want to worry anyone."

He held her eyes for a moment before nodding in understanding. "Of course. At least let me take you somewhere to eat? It's still early."

She pondered that for a moment and while being around the effect Roy seemed to have on her made her wary, it also thrilled her. Another hour or two couldn't hurt, she supposed, and she was getting rather hungry.

"I guess I have time for dinner," she said. The brightness of his answering smile was dazzling. She was so taken aback that it took her a moment to process he was smiling like that _because of her_. Her face warmed and she took the last sip of her drink before standing. "On one condition."

"Name it and its yours," he said cheerfully.

"You let me pay for my own dinner."

He regarded her for a minute and then scratched at his jaw. "Well, actually, I was thinking that, uh, I could make you dinner." His lips twitched and he grinned a little. "I'm not much of a cook, but I make a mean grilled cheese sandwich."

"I'd hate to impose," she replied, though it was a better alternative to dining out in reality. She didn't have enough money to cover a whole meal, she knew, and she was not going to let him keep paying for her.

He rolled his eyes as he stood and started pulling out a couple coins as a tip from his pocket. "Riza, please."

She snatched the money off the counter and replaced it with her own. "I can't allow you to keep paying my expenses. You'll go broke at this rate."

"Somehow, I get the feeling you don't ask for _that_ much." But he took back his change and allowed her to leave her own money behind without fuss.

After grabbing her purse and slipping the strap onto her shoulder, she turned to look at him and found she had a hard time swallowing with the intensity of his eyes trained on her like that. "I don't normally do things like this," she said in a much stronger voice than she thought she was capable of.

His face contorted slightly at that and it didn't take much for her to wonder what was crossing his mind. She knew that since he said he'd had a date the other night that this kind of thing probably happens all the time and yet she didn't seem to care about the fact that maybe every woman he looked at felt the same kind of fire in her veins. That perhaps it wasn't her, but it was him.

And it was probably irresponsible of her to dismiss that completely but for the first time in a very long time she felt something other than hatred and anger and pain. For the first time, there was a spark of hope that there was something else for her beyond what she was now, that she was capable of feeling more, doing more, _being_ more. Recklessness was in her blood at this moment and she wanted it there. She wanted to forget Grumman and Rebecca and Havoc and the Resistance and be here, right now, for the rest of the night.

She knew so much pain. It couldn't possibly be selfish of her to indulge in one night where she was free from that, right? Even with the atrocities she'd committed in her past?

"It's just dinner, Riza," Roy finally said, a teasing lilt to his voice.

Her face darkened slightly. "I know."

His arm extended to her and she only hesitated for a moment before taking it. As strange and new as it was, it didn't feel awkward to be this close to him, or for this formal physical contact of their entwined arms. She did feel warm, though. Not in the sense of embarrassment or nervousness, but in a sense of contentment. Was this what it felt like to live a normal civilian life?

He began to lead her down the sidewalk once they left the building as the lanterns were turned on, but she forced him to a halt and nodded back over her shoulder.

"I have a vehicle," she said. Even if Grumman did send someone out to look for her - which she doubted anyway - the car was so general and nondescript that no one from the compound would be able to tell it apart from hundreds of other automobiles in the city.

His eyes widened a bit but then he smiled and when they got in the car, she followed his directions to his small home in the heart of the city.


	7. Chapter 6

**A/N: **So it's been a while since I updated! This is the last chapter I have completed so the next couple will take a little bit longer to get out to you. Working at a summer camp is time consuming! Thank you all so much for your kind words and for reading. I hope you enjoy the chapter, and I'd really appreciate it if you let me know what you thought!

**Disclaimer: I do not own FMA unnnnnfortunately.**

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**Chapter 6**

Jean Havoc had never seen Riza looked so terrified. Not even when she'd been shot in the stomach during her early days of her membership with the Resistance and she'd clung to life with her tiny hands; stubbornly too, with that quietly aggressive expression as if she could glare death away. Not even when he had stupidly muttered "What if I love you?" against the skin of her neck and she'd pulled back with wide eyes, her heart fearfully hammering against his chest.

But this look on her face, _this_ was terror. Terror and horror and such a flash of potent hatred, all being seamlessly driven into Commander Grumman with her icy, defiant stare. Havoc had learned to be afraid of those eyes of hers years ago. He was afraid now.

"What did you say?" she practically choked and he could see how the blood drained from her face and her fingers clenched down at her sides, trembling. It was hard to see her in so much turmoil when she barely cracked much of a smile on her good days. Havoc may not be in love with Hawkeye, but he damned well cared for her and he hated seeing Grumman hurt her so deeply. The Commander had never been anything but a source of pain for her, a sore spot, a perpetual bruise. So much pain. . .Havoc didn't know how to make it go away.

No, it wasn't that he didn't know how. It was that he _couldn't_ do it. If that was the case, then maybe they'd have been married by now. He knew that she loved him in her own way, but that really wasn't enough for her. It wasn't enough for him, either. She needed something else that he could never be and vice versa; it hadn't been particularly easy, but they came to terms with that years ago.

"Honestly, Riza, you heard me," Grumman sighed as his smile faded, playing with the edge of his mustache while he sat behind Armstrong's desk. Havoc didn't particularly like Olivier being treated so poorly either; her office overrun, her opinion snubbed blatantly under the Commander's boot. She was lurking dangerously in the corner, eyes hard as the edge of a cliff while she watched the scene unfold before her.

Hawkeye looked down at the edge of the desk and swallowed hard; Havoc was impressed - though not surprised - that her voice was calm and ever Riza-like when she spoke. "May I be excused, sir?"

Grumman waved his hand superfluously. "Yes, that's fine, both of you are dismissed. There are some things I need to discuss with Armstrong in private anyway."

"Thank you, sir," Havoc murmured softly before turning around and chasing after Riza, who had stormed out of the office the minute he'd granted her wish, footsteps harsh and angry against the tiled floors, her breaths coming fast.

"Hawkeye," he said, running to catch up with her pace; for being so much shorter than him, she sure was fast, and she refused to stop. Frustration bit at him, though he knew it was wrong of him to be frustrated with her; he forced the feeling against the situation, something that was making his very dearest and oldest friend upset. He reached for her arm and grabbed it, jerking her to a stop. "Hawkeye - "

"Let me go, Havoc," she said with a surprising amount of calm in her voice, hiding her face.

"Riza, I know that - "

"You don't know. You _don't_."

He was desperate. "I want to - "

"Let me go."

"Riza - "

Her head tilted back toward him slightly and he could see how her chin shook. Just once. One crack in her steel armor. "Please, Jean. Let me go."

He stared at her as her jaw line quivered once more and knew that whatever interference he was planning to run was only going to make her more upset. Slowly, he released her arm and watched as she took off down the hall, making a beeline for the garage. There was a moment when he pondered whether or not he should stop her, but he didn't have that right. She needed to be alone; that was how she liked it. Havoc knew that she needed her space and she was more than capable enough to take care of herself no matter where she went.

Reluctantly, he turned away from the direction Hawkeye had taken herself in and pointed his feet toward the dining hall. He shoved his hands in his pockets and made his way down the staircase into the basement, hearing the chatter of the compound as the rush for dinner began. Rebecca Catalina sat in the corner of the room with Kain Fuery and Heymans Breda, the three of them conversing easily over cracked glasses of water. They all looked up at Havoc as he glumly approached.

"Hey Havoc," Breda said by way of greeting before taking a drink from his cup as.

"Hey yourself," Havoc murmured as he took a seat next to Fuery and sighed. "So they finally gave you a break from all that research work?"

Breda made a face and rubbed at his chin. "Not even close. Grumman has us working twice as hard to figure out the next link in the chain of command. He even mentioned something about an undercover job already. It's chaotic." He sighed. "I'll have to report back in soon so Falman can come get some grub."

Catalina frowned, her large, dark eyes missing nothing. "Where's Riza?"

Fuery's eyebrows furrowed. "Oh yeah. Didn't you two have a meeting with the Commander?"

Six pairs of eyes zeroed in on Havoc's face as he tried to think of a way to word this correctly. Too careless and Catalina would fly off the handle and tear the compound apart looking for a woman who was no longer on the premises. Too casual and none of them would understand how upset Hawkeye had been; might tread too heavily on that subject at a later date.

"She needed space," Havoc decided on simply, hoping that he conveyed everything in his tone. It was hard to put a finger on Hawkeye; harder still to describe the reasons behind her actions, even for someone who'd spent years with her. She needed her time and he would make sure that they all respected that. Even Catalina.

"So where did she go?" Rebecca demanded, looking peeved and worried. He didn't blame her; he was both of those things too.

"Wait. _Why_ did she go?" Breda pressed, cocking an eyebrow.

Havoc let his head fall back against his chair and tried his best not to appear frustrated. But goddamn it all if his entire world was frustrating right now. Between being Grumman's bodyguard for whatever reasons, to _whatever the hell it was he had_ with Olivier Armstrong, even to watching his best friend hurt _so constantly_. . .there wasn't any time for him to pity his own predicament and he was burning through his cigarettes faster than he could buy them.

"It was something Grumman said," he muttered, staring the moldy ceiling tiles. His hand reached for his shirt pocket where he usually kept his box of cigarettes before he remembered that he was out of smokes. "He upset her."

"You still didn't answer my question," Catalina insisted.

He lowered his head to give her an incredulous look, a part of his mind registering the sudden flash in her eyes that passed too quickly for him to read it. "You know Hawkeye as well as I do, Becks. She needs her space. Besides, I don't know where the hell she went." Lies. He saw her head toward the garage. What she had done from there, however, was still a mystery to him, though he had a pretty hardy inclination that she wasn't inside the property gates any longer.

Rebecca tensed and dropped her eyes. "Did she at least look okay?"

"She's Riza Hawkeye. She's always _looks_ okay." _Though I can't say if _she_ is okay._

"What did Grumman say?" Fuery asked in a lower voice, fiddling with his glasses a bit as he leaned forward. The kid was barely touching twenty-one years old but he was earnest and clever, his eyes telling Havoc that he was trying to put the pieces together. But then, everyone seated at the table was. Hawkeye was a precious resource, a best friend, a comrade, and they could see how distant and cold she was. She'd always been like that, of course, but the recent months had hardened her into something almost otherworldly and completely untouchable.

Grumman had ever been the only thing that could really break through that facade of hers, pushing her irritation and her anger to the surface. As a result, she'd been a lot more impatient and a touch erratic lately. No one could blame her.

Havoc leaned forward, too, and the others followed suit. Talking about assignments and missions out loud in a public space wasn't really a smart idea; they may all be on the same side concerning the government of Amestris, but that did not mean they were the same. Though the bond of fighting as a unit against something much larger and powerful wielded much of the Resistance together, most of the people who had joined had questionable motives and even more questionable characters. Announcing Hawkeye's mission - especially since she was such a valuable asset to any team of the Resistance - concerning the Commander out loud was not ideal.

"He didn't give her a choice," Havoc started in a low voice. "He's forcing her to go back to his headquarters near Central after his business is done here. Something about training new recruits and taking on missions he doesn't trust with anyone else."

Rebecca paled. "Oh hell. He's having her raise the next generation of murderers. No wonder she's so upset."

"Don't you mean _saviors_?" Breda asked uneasily, eyeing the people walking too close to their table for comfort.

"I'm not going to sugar-coat anything when it's true," she hissed.

"Sure but talking about it out loud like that is gonna make you look like a traitor."

"You were thinking it too."

"Ladies," Havoc muttered in warning.

Breda sighed after a moment and stood. "I gotta get back to my post." Fuery stood as well, mentioning that he had a few transmitters to fix and said he'd catch up with them later. This left Rebecca and Havoc alone at the table, separated by uneven trays, his toe unknowingly pushed up against the side of her shoe.

"She left the compound didn't she?" Rebecca said in a low voice.

Havoc scratched his chin and fished his lighter out of his back pocket. "Looked like it."

"And she took a car."

"Most likely."

"And she didn't even tell anyone."

"Nope."

Catalina sighed and dropped her head into her hands. "Doesn't she realize that people worry about her? She could end up dead and we wouldn't know it. Damn it, Riza."

Havoc smiled bitterly as he flicked his thumb down the lighter and a small flame sparked to life. "That's the thing. She spends her time working to make sure that no one worries about her; she doesn't want to be that kind of burden on anyone." He removed his thumb and flipped it again. "And sometimes, I think she convinces herself that she's done it and that she's alone."

Rebecca groaned into her palms.

He laughed humorlessly. "I know."

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Riza tried to find it in herself to second guess the choices that led her to this moment, that maybe it wasn't such a good idea after all, but all she had to do was take one look at Roy and suddenly whatever chances she were taking seemed worth it.

She watched him idly from a chair at the kitchen table while the pan on the stove sizzled and popped. He slid a spatula under one of the cheesy sandwiches and flipped it clumsily, scratching at the back of his neck. Her eyes seemed to favor him over all the other objects in the room, but she tried not to be obvious, forcing herself to examine everything else in his one-story home.

A large bookcase leaned against one wall, crowded with a variety of books that probably had a lot more history than she did. On the coffee table, were stacks of newspapers and magazines, and she couldn't help but wonder just how much reading this man had done. The small couch looked like it was caving in on itself, a knitted afghan thrown over the back in an ungraceful lump. A crooked lamp hid in the corner, glowing warm like the color of melted butter against the pale walls, the smell of fried cheese drifting on the air.

It was a nice home, she thought. Cluttered, but cozy. Briefly, she visualized her own cramped room at the compound, shared with Rebecca. Save for the dresser and the mirror and the phone in the corner, her room was bare. Though Roy's walls were stripped of heavy decoration, there was something soothing and _permanent_ about the layout.

There were no packed bags sitting by the door to emergency evacuation purposes, or spare guns hanging on a rack behind it. His home felt safe; had the very distinct feeling of him, of _Roy_, that hung on the walls like curtains. She wondered what it would be like to own a house of her own. Would her house feel so safe, so permanent, even after all these years? Of course, there would be no roommate but she was equipped for living alone. Besides, she could find other company. She thought she might like to get a dog.

They hadn't said much since he had opened the door and gestured for her to cross the threshold first. Her purse was draped over the backs of one of his kitchen chairs and he'd shed his vest, throwing it onto the couch. He'd been subtle about it but her eyes had caught at his fingers as he'd loosened his tie and began to undo the first few buttons of his dress shirt.

"Almost done," Roy said, breaking through her thoughts.

She nodded, though he wasn't looking at her, her cheeks blooming with a tinge of color as she tried to reel back her train of thought. Those thoughts weren't useful or appropriate, but she was appalled at how fluttery she felt, how her cheeks warmed at the thought of him wearing no shirt at all.

_Pull yourself together, Hawkeye._

"You thirsty? I got a bottle of wine and water from the tap, but that's about it." He looked at her over his shoulder expectantly, awaiting her reply.

"Water is fine," she said after a moment. "Can I help you with anything?"

He chuckled and held a hand out to her in a gesture that said _halt_. "Nope. You're a guest in my home; you just sit there."

She looked back to the wooden grain of the table top and had to hide a curl of a smile. He was a gentleman, she thought, but there was something else in his voice that was familiar to her, though she couldn't quite put her finger on it. The sound of the tap came from the sink and then a few moments later he was placing a glass of water in front of her, droplets clinging to the sides.

Her eyes looked up to meet his. "Thank you."

He grinned and she took a drink, still feeling his eyes on her. His voice became incredulous as he sighed. "Are you _always_ packing?"

Riza looked to her leg where the shape of the weapon was pressing against the fabric of her skirt. She shrugged. "Yes."

A flash of suspicion crossed his face even as he gave a short, humorless chuckle and she could feel herself clamming up and getting defensive. "A gun for every occasion, huh?"

"My. . .job is dangerous," she explained in a hardened voice.

His eyebrows knit together. "Dangerous enough to have to carry around two guns?"

"How did you know about the second one?"

"I saw you flash it when you pulled money out of your purse at the bar," he said and then paused for a moment. "Are you. . .Riza, are you involved any kind of trouble or something?"

She knew what he was thinking. For a civilian woman, to carry around one gun was unheard of. To be carting two? Maybe he was suddenly wary that she was military or apart of some underground operation, in which his assumptions would be partially true. Maybe he thought she was a fugitive of some sort, laying low and hiding with the best protection she knew how.

He was looking at her with eyes like fire, wondering, burning with curiosity and something else that was less identifiable. Maybe a part of him was scared, maybe a part of him was upset. Her eyes caught at the small tick of his lips and she knew that he at least wasn't happy, and then she started to wonder why, despite being a woman with two guns and not telling him her profession, he was looking at her like that. Any man would be dumbfounded and maybe a bit concerned but this heat in his expression. . .wary and quietly angry. . .it didn't fit.

She felt like she was looking at a half-finished puzzle; there was something all too familiar about him, not in a physical sense, but in that way he held his shoulders and the tilt to his chin. It bothered her that she couldn't place it, couldn't fit those last pieces together and understand the bigger picture of him at last.

"No trouble," she murmured with as much sincerity as she could muster. It was the truth right_ now_, after all. "I just like to be prepared."

Roy sighed and leaned back on his heels. "I guess I should have known. You were swinging around a gun the other night."

She became indignant. "I was not swinging it around; I knew exactly what I was doing."

He eyed her. "I know."

The tone of his voice brought her up short for a minute. How did he do that? He made her feel naked in front of him with how subtly insightful he was. What other things did he notice and mull over that she was unaware of?

If he was going to be suspicious about her toting guns around, two could play at that game. "You had a gun, too."

"My job _requires_ it."

"And who is to say _mine_ doesn't?"

He looked like he wanted to avoid this question, looking put off that she had a perfectly valid point. A part of her was shocked somewhere in the spaces of her mind that she was having this conversation with a man she had straight up assumed to be civilian. But this proved it, didn't it? He was something else. Not civilian; not when he could talk to her about needing guns for his job and be so solemn, so steadfast, about it.

She took a deep breath and tried to clear her mind because she knew that she was onto something, another piece of the puzzle in her hand, but an unpleasant smell wafted under her nose and she wrinkled it. His eyes widened in abrupt understanding.

"Ah hell!" he cried, turning back to the kitchen. When he flipped the sandwiches again, one side of them was blackened, causing him to mutter a few more obscenities under his breath before he turned off the stove and slid the food onto a waiting plate on the counter. She flattened a smile that began to curve at her lips. "Damn it."

"When you said that you could cook a mean grilled cheese sandwich, I didn't realize quite how mean or how grilled you meant," she deadpanned.

He looked at her incredulously. "Are you making fun of me?"

She stood and put on her best poker face. "Why would I be making fun of you?"

His lips quirked in a smirk. "This is prime bachelor cuisine at its finest."

"You burn your food?"

"I like it well done."

She snorted. "Apparently."

He chuckled at her and then threw the blackened sandwiches away before starting over. She came to the kitchen and leaned against the counter while he worked; the sizzling filled the silence, her glass of water between both of her hands. Idly, one finger ran around the rim.

"I know it looks bad, a woman carrying around guns like this," she said, breaking the quiet between them. She knew he was listening from the set of his mouth, but he focused his eyes on the sandwiches, one hand curled around a spatula. "But I'm not dangerous to you." She held him in her sights. "I wouldn't shoot you."

"Is that what you think I was worried about?" He was subdued and she didn't know how to respond to that because what else would he have been worried about? "Of course, you don't mind _pointing_ one at me. Is that it?" His voice was laced with amusement, though he still stared at his stovetop.

A small smile tugged at her mouth as she watched him with a sort of shyness she wasn't used to feeling. She would bet money that they were both remembering the night in the alley behind the dance hall. "Yes, that's it exactly."

His eyes darted over to meet hers then and lingered. The air felt alive, vibrating with energy, and although he was at least a good four feet away from her, she could swear that she felt his breaths. Her own breaths steadied against that pulse. In and out. It was natural; it was instant. He blinked lazily and his gaze was warm on her face; she could feel butterflies in her stomach. Of their own volition, her hands clutched harder at the glass she was holding and she licked her lips.

He broke eye contact abruptly, looking back down at the sandwiches, which appeared golden brown in the frying pan.

"Riza," he said, and she might have imagined the way his voice curved perfectly around her name, but it gave her a shiver all the same, "will you pass me the plates?"

She slid the plates toward him across the counter top and he dished the sandwiches out of the frying pan. Her spine seemed to quiver with anticipation - for she knew that he was going to say something else, merely from the set of his mouth - as he unrolled the top of a bag of pretzels and put them on the plates. With one motion, he nodded toward the kitchen table and she went to sit, murmuring a thank you as he placed her plate in front of her. He responded with, "No problem," and moved away from her.

Roy took the seat across from her before he finally looked up at her face. A crooked kind of smile tugged at his lips. "I wouldn't shoot at you either."

She smiled. She knew that she hadn't needed to explain herself or why she carried guns; that was her business and it wasn't like Roy had any say in it. Supposing they truly bothered him that much, she would have left his home. And it was funny, she thought, that they both had an unspoken agreement to not ask about each other's profession. Perhaps funny wasn't the right word - if Riza was adamantly avoiding telling him that she was an assassin, what in the world was he hiding? - but it wasn't her place to pry when he was granting her the space she needed in return.

How strange, that she'd only met this man twice and barely knew anything about him, and she was already making promises. As if she'd see him again after this.

After dinner, she tried to insist that she wash the dishes, but he simply wouldn't allow it, so she settled for drying them as Roy rinsed them off. He seemed to be taking his time, giving unnecessary care to each dish before passing them over to her, as if he was trying to prolong the moment.

"Do you always devote such attention to the most menial things?" she asked, surprising herself when she heard the teasing lilt come from her mouth.

He shot her a winning smile. _He really is handsome. _"Of course. I'm nothing if not thorough."

She bit back yet another smile and they finished the task in silence. When he emptied the sudsy bin down the drain and turned to face her, she sighed and met his eyes squarely.

"I really should be going now," she said, dreading the words as they left her mouth. The last thing she wanted was to return to the compound but her life really wasn't about what she _wanted_ anyway. She had imposed on Roy long enough and his own warmth and kindness toward her that she'd never seen from anyone else was sufficient for the rest of her life. She could pull a trigger and remember Roy, a man who was tugged around by the government on a leash; remember why she was killing in the first place. If the Resistance succeeded, then he could be safe and free.

He scratched at the back of his neck and swallowed. "I figured you were going to say that."

"Thank you for dinner," she murmured as walked around him and made a beeline for her purse. Something was closing in around her, some fluttery desire that she needed to ignore because of her job. Because she was an assassin. Indulging in this one night had been enough happiness for one murderer, probably more than she deserved. Definitely more than she deserved. She could allow herself nothing else.

But Roy followed her. "Riza, wait."

Her hand froze where it was locked around the doorknob, her purse on one shoulder. She took a deep breath and turned around. "Yes?"

"Can I. . .I mean, I'd like. . .You know, I'd. . ." he stuttered and fumbled around his words recklessly and she was surprised to see how his face was turning pink. She knew what he was going to ask, though, and she had to end it. It was hard to open her mouth.

"No, Roy," she said softly, meeting his gaze as he turned it to her.

"We can't?" His eyes twitched and tightened, the edges of his lips curling downward. He looked suddenly stoic, hiding something behind eyes as guarded as her own heart.

She shook her head. "I'm sorry."

He let out a short puff of air and then forced a smile. She'd rather see him frowning at her; it would be easier to leave if he was frowning. "Well then, I guess this is goodbye. I'm honored to have met you, Riza. Thank you for your company."

She had to smile at that. Such a gentleman. "I could say the same to you, Roy. Dinner was nice. I wish you all the best."

It probably would have been a good idea to leave then, but he stepped toward her and she couldn't move as he reached for her hand, his fingertips brushing against her knuckles. He took her hand into his and pulled it forward slightly, but that was all he tugged; just her hand. Her breath stuck in her throat and she could feel her pulse spiking unevenly as his fingers pressed to her wrist and he held her hand. The warmth from his hand spread up her entire arm, and the careful way he held onto her felt like a form of physical contact she'd never experienced before. Something quiet and strong and intimate, something that made her blood hot. Her fingers flexed and then she was holding onto him too.

His free hand came up to stroke the back of her hand lightly, so light that she couldn't be quite sure he was actually touching her or if her mind was eagerly imagining his touch. Standing here with him now, the entire moment was edged in a lazy urgency, coaxing her to stay, coaxing her to leave. His hand promised everything she could never have: the permanent home, a normal life, a husband, perhaps even a kid or two. She couldn't bring herself to be the first to move away because this was the closest she'd ever get to normalcy and clinging to his hand was the only thing she knew. This small moment, something so infinitesimal in the large scale of a day, was so significant that the shift inside of herself was palpable.

Holding his hand now was just like the first time they'd shook hands, but worse. Worse because instead of scaring her away, his hand - so soft and yielding, forcing nothing upon her - urged her to stay. A tremble ran down her back and she felt hot; so hot, like the heart of a fire. He looked up into her eyes and offered another smile - he had to stop _doing_ that - and then, lingering and reluctant, he released her and her hand slid from his grip. It was too late though, too late to pretend none of this had ever happened.

"I won't forget you," he said simply.

And oh how she wished he would.

He continued. "And if you ever. . .I mean, you know where to find me if you. . ." He shook his head as his cheeks became rosy again, the tips of his ears turning a precious shade of pink.

Her lips twitched. "I'll keep that in mind."

"You will, won't you?" he replied, suddenly earnest with a glimmer in his eye. He was. . . _hopeful_? Oh, _why_ did he have to look at her like that?

She looked away quickly and swallowed, her heart hammering once in her chest. "Yes." Her hand clasped again on the doorknob as she turned away. "Thanks again, Roy." He would never know how much comfort he'd brought her tonight, after the turmoil of the day. After what Grumman had said. She could at least say thank you and mean it with every fiber of her being.

"Anytime," he replied, his voice burning with the kind of sincerity that her life severely lacked. Her hand trembled slightly as she momentarily considered disappearing completely from the compound. Leaving the Resistance. Giving up her life as an assassin and quietly pursuing a man like Roy. What it would be like to have a family. She could feel her stomach twisting in knots, painfully aware that she could never leave. Even entertaining the idea was unfathomable.

She inhaled deeply and then opened the door before quietly closing it behind her.


	8. Chapter 7

**A/N**: So hi! Long time, no see! Camp has been crazy and I've written this chapter about 5 different times. This is the chapter that holds the original thought I had in my head when this story was concocted and so the last section, naturally, was the hardest to write. Still not satisfied with it, but I hope you enjoy it anyway! I have so much planned coming up so the pace should start rolling a bit faster here. Thank you so very much for reading and sticking with me! I'd love to hear your thoughts, if you have any!

**Disclaimer:** I don't own FMA, but I do own the complete collection on DVD and that's almost the same thing.

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**Chapter 7 **

His blood was hot, unusually so. He was typically painted as a man who was a sibling to the element of fire, but this sort of heat was new, bold, and as undeniably frustrating as being maddeningly close to something out of reach.

Colonel Roy Mustang had never been so unforgivably taken with a woman and he was decidedly irritated about it.

Days at the office inside Eastern Command were spent either in total rapture of the mounds of paperwork or in fear of his tantrums, many of which were born from nothing but the irritable memory of beautiful, blonde Riza. He caught himself sparing her a moment in his thoughts over that period of time, the reflection of the lights on her hair, or the confidence of her hands, the intuitive spark in her amber eyes. Generous moments. Unreliable moments. He pushed those thoughts away and threw himself into his office work with more vigor than ever before; on good days at least.

If he was particularly irked at the distracting thoughts flashing in neon across his mind, he might decide that the typo in the report he was scanning through was outrageously offending and demanded a reprint of the entire twelve page document as soon and efficiently as possible.

Roy Mustang was in a constant state of absolute misery and absolute bliss.

It was a fine line to walk, and his subordinates had never been more wary, like a band of cats tip toeing across the top of a fence in fear of the dog curled up on the ground below. They never knew what would set him off, which cup of coffee was going to be too cold, which grilled sandwich at lunch was going to be too burnt, which piece of paper would be a supreme insult to his intelligence.

The utter elation would hit him when he was at the height of remembrance and he could swear he could hear the pulse of her blood and breath in his head; the steady beat of a dance he didn't entirely know the steps to, and yet something about it was enticingly and achingly all too memorable. Misery clobbered him over the head with a blunt edged hammer and he was left with a distinct want, the yearning to see her again and the curiosity of what her laugh might sound like.

In tandem, no one at the office was very happy for long periods of time and it was bringing everyone to the brink of ill-slated arguments. Roy was oblivious to the spats among his subordinates, embarrassingly enough; his mind was only about completing paperwork and doing everything in his right mind to keep a constant distraction going. The reports on the Resistance movements seemed to be doing a splendid job of that lately.

Roy's best friend, Lieutenant-Colonel Maes Hughes, was the only one who thought anything of the strange behavior. The stubborn, charismatic colonel began to wind up tightly; the bags of sleeplessness under his eyes darkened, his hours spent doing exercise increased. Hughes had his suspicions about Mustang's sudden enthusiasm for the office work; the fleeting softness to Roy's eyes and the gentle curl to the side of his mouth in silent moments and late afternoon drowsiness hooked in Hughes' head. Equally, the tantrums Roy would throw over menial things also pointed Hughes in the same direction as the enthusiasm. He spent his spare time trying to put the pieces together; he wasn't the head of the Investigations department for nothing.

Completely oblivious of the eyes trained on him, unable to care about anything but the unwanted companion of heat in his veins, Roy sat at his desk day by day with his favorite black ink pen held in his hand. Today was more stressful than most; many of the papers that passed under his hand depicted accounts of subtle activity from the Resistance, all of them destructive. His phone had been going off non-stop for half the morning, and the other half there was a constant stream of secretaries delivering messages about the destruction from the offices of other ranking military officers. His patience was about as thin as ice on a lake in the summer - completely nonexistent.

"Yes, sir, I'm aware," Roy droned as he forced the annoyance from his voice, the phone tucked against his ear as his hand doodled aimlessly on the corner of his planner. The shape his pen was making looked suspiciously like an all too familiar up-do held in place with a leather-bound clip. His eyes snapped up as the door to his office was slammed open and Hughes strutted in like he owned the place with a tiny crinkle between his eyebrows.

Roy shifted in his seat and dropped his pen, barely paying any mind to the irritated general on the other side of the line as he met Hughes' eyes. "Yes, sir, I know about the reports. I have them in my office now."

Hughes sat down on one of the couches and reclined back against the arm rest with a flourish to encourage Mustang to finish up his phone call before speaking with him. Taking the cue, Roy spun around so that the back of his chair faced his friend and clutched the phone tighter against his ear. He repressed a sigh as the general spoke in an offensive manner; condescending, as if Roy was just a child.

"General, I will have my men out there to verify the reports tomorrow, but that's all that I can spare. . .No, sir. . .I'm afraid you aren't the only one. . .I'm not, sir." This time he did sigh, a hand running through his ruffled hair and down his face to rub at his eyes. "Of course, General. . .Yes, sir. . . I will have the paperwork done by tomorrow. . .Yes, sir." Pulling the phone away from his ear, he turned his chair around and placed it back in its cradle.

"General Stick-up-his-ass giving you a hard time again?" Hughes spoke after a moment, a touch of amusement laced through his enthusiastic voice.

"As if he ever does anything else," Roy replied. His eyes caught on the doodle he'd been working on earlier as he shuffled the scattered papers back into one stack and lingered, though he forced his thoughts elsewhere. "What do you want, Hughes?"

"I got some intel for you."

Mustang raised an eyebrow when Maes' grin drew wide.

"My darling wife Gracia and I would love for you to join us for dinner sometime this week!"

"That's what you came to tell me?"

"Say yes and I'll share something else with you!"

"Let me guess; you're having twins."

Hughes laughed. "I wish! The doc is pretty sure there's just one bun in the oven though."

Roy fought the upward twitch of his lips. It had been a while since he'd seen Gracia and it would be something special to see her again. Despite Hughes' complaints that being pregnant made her cranky at the best of times and an absolute ham at the worst, she was a lovely woman with a talent for cooking and comfort.

"Alright. I'll come."

"Super! How does Thursday night sound?"

"It's fine, Hughes." It's not like Roy ever did anything else on a weeknight anyway. Occasionally, there was a casual dinner date used to specifically gather data on the Resistance or a late night meeting in the office but outside of working hours, Mustang spent his time avoiding guilty memories while attempting to cloak himself in normality. A Thursday night dinner with the Hughes' would be an excellent cloak.

"So what's been eating at you, anyway?"

"What? I thought you had news for me."

"You didn't answer the question."

Roy sighed and deliberately placed his hand over the sketch on the military documents. "Nothing has been eating me; I've just regained my focus." He was walking a thin line between truth and lies. Riza was, as much as he ignored the fact, the reason why he was working with renewed energy. Also the reason he yelled at his mug of pens perched at the edge of his desk when frustration nipped him a little too hard in the bud.

"Don't give me that crap, Roy. I haven't seen you in such a shape since before Ishval." Maes pressed curiously. "What was the catalyst?"

"The Resistance," Mustang responded smoothly. "It's strange that they have yet to make an assassination attempt on the Fuhrer and yet the people he associates with more closely fall to the enemy. I want to stop them as soon as I can before they do any real damage to our country." _Well said, Mustang._

"Whose ass are you trying to kiss?" Maes chuckled.

Roy pressed his hands to the desk more firmly and stood, feeling irritated, ready to erupt. "Anyway, Hughes, just because you like to share your personal life does not mean I am eager to share mine. Drop it."

"Fine, but if it's a woman then I'm happy for you and you should invite her to dinner on Thursday." Hughes leaned forward and the lights danced across his glasses as he inclined his head slightly. "Now, as promised: good news or bad news first?"

Roy stared at his friend as he sat back down, "Surprise me."

After grinning briefly, Maes fixed his glasses again and crossed his arms over his chest with a satisfied look. "I heard through the grapevine that a promotion is on the horizon for one Colonel Mustang."

Roy smirked. "That _is_ good news."

"You've impressed the higher ups; one more little nudge is all they need to make that rumored promotion a reality. You're just damn lucky that your boldness is something they admire." It was no secret that Roy was incessantly ostentatious and perhaps a little too boisterous in his efforts to claim the limelight among the officers of the military.

"And the bad news?"

Hughes grimaced slightly. "I got info earlier today about the Resistance. It looks like they are closing in on their next big target."

This was what Roy had been waiting for. He raised his hands and folded them at his mouth. "Do you know who it is?" If they could tell in advance just who had a target on their back, then it would be easier to protect them. And if he managed to set up a trap to catch the murderer before he could strike, then that promotion would be his.

Unfortunately, the Resistance was good at what they did and while the military had warning that someone was going to be in the path of an enemy rifle, they had no idea which officer it would be. Roy knew that Maes had seen his fair share of murdered officers, knew that their deaths were brought about quickly and painlessly with a single bullet to the head. That didn't make it less terrifying for many of the men and woman who worked for military.

"We don't," Hughes said after a moment, " but I've got a feeling, Roy. Watch your back, okay?"

::::

Havoc was never fond of scouting missions even though he was good at them. Usually, they involved him being a part of the shadows, scoping out the enemy and the target for a measure of time so that he understood their routine and even to double-check that they had the right man. Excess killing wasn't something he was exactly keen on, even if the Resistance as a whole had no qualms about it.

Today, however, Havoc's assignment called for him to be undercover in plain sight which was how he ended up wearing the itchy, blue military uniform with an ear and mouth piece discreetly attached to the clothing at the inside of his collar. It was too dangerous to go in accompanied by another Resistance member, so Havoc would play the part of a young soldier who had recently graduated the Academy with only Fuery as his guidance through the earpiece. His inexperience with the Command Center would be accounted for through his "newly instated rank" as a fresh officer of the military. The plan - Breda's plan - was seamless.

Havoc fiddled with the collar of the wool uniform, baking in the heat of the sun as he walked up the steps of Eastern Command. The damn things were scratchy and uncomfortable and he wondered why something so unpleasant was standard issue for the beloved troops that patrolled Amestris.

Static crackled in his ear. "Jacqueline, what is your position?"

"Just passed the gate," Havoc muttered into the small microphone pinned just inside his collar.

"Roger that." It sounded as though Fuery was rustling a stack of papers. "Heather asked if you could look for the only colonel stationed here. She wants to know which room he is in so she can send flowers for delivery."

Havoc easily translated this in his mind to: Breda has confirmed this colonel as the next target and Havoc needs to find his office and get out as soon as possible. Hawkeye would be taking care of the officer in the morning while the morning bell woke the rest of the city up.

"Understood, Kate," Havoc muttered as he stepped through the main doors into the lobby. The static in his ear died out momentarily and he could feel himself getting hot beneath the wool at his throat and back. He'd done missions before; been close to the enemy before. But he had backup. This time he was alone and he was greatly outnumbered to the point that he felt unusually nervous.

_Calm yourself, man, being nervous is the worst thing you can be right now._ He took a deep breath and walked as casually as he could manage toward the front desk. At least carrying a weapon was standard military issue in Amestris; Havoc took comfort in the firearm tucked into its holster at the back of his waist.

A pretty woman with short brown hair and an array of freckles was manning the front desk, bent over in her blue skirt as she shuffled through a calendar. She looked up as Havoc approached and he was surprised at how much the woman reminded him of Rebecca.

"Good morning, sir," she said pleasantly.

"Good morning," he replied, allowing himself to smile. He tried to be charming, but that was half of Havoc's problem; he _tried_. "I need directions to the colonel's office, if you please."

"Colonel Mustang?" the woman asked for confirmation.

Breda had said there was only one colonel at Eastern so he had to assume that this was their guy. Havoc nodded. "Yeah, that's the guy." _Too casual_, he reprimanded himself as he pressed his teeth against the inside of his cheek and hoped the woman wouldn't notice. As discreetly as possible, he raised a hand and used the sleeve of his uniform to wipe the perspiration from his forehead.

"Oh sure," the woman said without showing any signs of hesitation, "just give me one second, sir."

"Take your time, miss," he said gratefully.

She peeked up at him as she sifted through a list of officers and office assignments. "Pardon my asking, sir, but are you new?"

He rubbed at the back of his neck and smiled as bashfully as he could manage. Sometimes he wondered why he never went into show business. "That obvious, huh?"

She giggled. "Well, that and your rank is clearly suggested by your uniform, sir."

The earpiece crackled in his ear, and Fuery was speaking to him in a slightly nervous voice. "I don't mean to rush you, but Heather is getting impatient. She wants the room for the delivery now. Turns out she wants to order them before tonight."

_Grumman. _Havoc thought grimly, knowing with absolute certainty that Breda had nothing to do with this sudden change of plans.

"Fresh out of the academy," Havoc said to the secretary, trying to conceal the underlying sense of urgency he now felt. If Grumman wanted this man down tonight, that means that they'd have to kill him before office hours were over, which meant that Havoc only had about another hour to get the information and get back to the compound in order to give Hawkeye ample time to complete her own mission.

And why would Grumman want to run the risk of Hawkeye getting caught? Firing a bullet at a time of night where the sun was still peeking over the horizon and without that bell to hide the reverberations of the shot was going to call attention to her location. Havoc couldn't imagine a mission where putting Hawkeye in such immediate danger was a necessity. Olivier could not have agreed to something so rash; this had to have been Grumman flaunting his supreme power over them in order to do what he felt needed to be done.

Risking his own granddaughter's life; and at what cost? A twelve hour jump on killing this colonel? Was that really so worth it?

"I see," the secretary said lightly as she ran her finger down a list of names. "Aha! Here we are. Colonel Mustang is in office 324; third floor at the end of the hall toward the back of Command." She flipped the book closed and smiled up at him. "I hope that helped."

"Thank you, it does," Havoc said, though his voice was struggling to be as warm as it had been before. The woman looked like she was expecting him to say something more but he only tipped his head slightly and walked away with an anxious gait. All he had to do now was verify the information and then he could get the hell out of there.

::::

Rebecca's hands tapped idly against the steering wheel as she waited in the rusty old truck for Havoc to return from his assignment, the radio tuned in to receive the transmission signal between Havoc and Fuery. Ice took hold in her chest as she thought of Riza all by herself on the roof top in the twilight without the city bell to conceal the sound of her weapon. Rebecca thought that Grumman wanted his granddaughter alive, but he was sure making that something of an impossibility if he kept flinging her skills around so carelessly.

Just because she was the best sniper in the Resistance did not mean that she was invincible. The old man's power was going to his head and it was gonna cost him someday. The fact that Riza might be that cost was horribly terrifying.

Her thoughts were not only consumed by worry for her best friend, but worry for Havoc too. She wasn't quite sure why Grumman had asked him to do this mission when the man was made for covert ops and not such a blatant display in the heart of the enemy. That was more up Rebecca's alley than Havoc's. It was worse still that the assignment she'd been given was to accompany Havoc as his driver; at least if she had been kept back at the compound she could have gone somewhere to distract her, or busied her hands in some sort of work.

Here in the truck, she only had the murmur of the transmission to keep her occupied, and even that was touch and go.

She jumped in her seat when the passenger door was ripped open and Havoc, breathless, hopped inside, his hair more tousled than before.

"Go," he said urgently.

"What the hell, Havoc, you were supposed to warn me so I could at least start the damn engine before you got here," she said as her pounding heart began to calm. She twisted the key firmly in the ignition and punched the gas pedal with her foot, taking them down the side street and out of town. It wasn't the most direct course toward the compound, but it was the safest.

"I got nervous and took the mic off me before I even got to the colonel's office," he replied as he quickly unbuttoned the military jacket and tossed it over his shoulder into the back.

"You are jumpier than a rabbit in a doghouse," she observed bluntly, taking a sharp turn. "Somethin' happen?"

He was quiet for a moment as he rolled up his shirt sleeves and fixed his hair. She reached into her own pocket and pulled out the pack of cigarettes he'd entrusted to her for safe keeping and he had one lit and at his lips before he decided to reply. "I just don't like this, that's all."

"You gotta specify, Havoc, there are a lot of things I don't like about this," she said as she looked over her shoulder and took another turn, daring to run a stop sign when she saw no other vehicles.

"This colonel hardly seems like the type Grumman is after," he said after another moment's thought, pulling the cigarette from his mouth. "He's younger and even though he seemed arrogant, he's not an idiot. I don't know, Becks. It's wrong."

"It's always wrong, Jean."

"And I don't like that Grumman is putting Riza on the frontline without her usual cover," he continued, anxiously puffing smoke from his mouth. "Or that he's undermining Olivier's opinion on her own turf."

"How do you know Armstrong didn't agree with him?"

He shot Rebecca a sharp look, and she knew that she deserved it after the bitterness of her voice. She scolded herself; jealousy was the last thing she wanted to feel. Havoc cared for Armstrong, and Rebecca knew how great a woman Olivier was. Why _shouldn't_ he have fallen for her?

"You're right; I know better," she relented immediately.

Havoc rubbed at his face before taking another drag of his cigarette. "Let's just get this over with."

"Rodger that." She wrinkled her nose at the smoke and discreetly rolled down her driver side window as she pressed the pedal to the floor and zoomed out of town. The two of them sat in silence with nothing but the clunk of the engine and the sound of the wind streaming into the vehicle as Rebecca drove. The stream of air tugged at her hair, releasing it from its binding ponytail, and tousled the fringe of blonde above Havoc's eyes. She tried to keep her mind occupied but without Havoc's voice for a distraction, her thoughts swirled heavily around the potent urgency that seemed to suffocate them.

She didn't know what the rush was, but she could feel it pressing on, boxing around her with a strong inevitability that was disturbing. Grumman must know something that no one else did; why else would he be in such haste to kill Colonel Mustang? Why else would he risk Riza? Why, why, why? The more she thought about it, the angrier she got; until they arrived back at the compound and she was positively boiling with fury.

Havoc seemed to snap out of his reverie and notice her anger when she got out of the truck and slammed the door shut with more brutality than he thought the situation warranted. He must have caught a glance at her face because before she could leave the garage, he jogged up to her and grabbed her arm.

"And where do you think you're going?" he demanded, his blue eyes glinting like the edge of a storm.

She ripped herself away from him, seething. "I don't care if this guy is our leader; he's going to get Riza killed and that's _not_ okay with me. I'm going to have a word with him."

He reached for her again and caught her wrist, his voice hard. "You're not in the right state of mind, Catalina. Walk it off first."

"_You_ walk it off," she hissed. "Don't act like any of this doesn't bother you, Jean; don't act like I'm the crazy one here."

His teeth ground together. "You're going to get yourself deep in shit if you don't calm down."

"Open your eyes; we're already up to our heads in shit and I'm not going to stand for it anymore, not without a good reason. Riza's _life_ is at risk; you know that they have military stationed at ever corner looking for her! You _know_ what would happen if they captured her and she became a prisoner." Rebecca jerked her arm out of his grasp and took a deep breath to try and steady herself. "They'd torture her to try and pry information out of her but she'd die before she betrayed us; we can't let her die. I won't pretend I'm okay with this. I want to know what Grumman knows; I want to know why it's so imperative that Riza complete this mission tonight."

"Because I want to get back to Central tomorrow." Both Havoc and Rebecca spun sharply in the direction of Grumman's voice, the old man leaning against the door to the garage as he fiddled with his mustache.

Her anger spiked as he stood there with such a collected coolness, a hint of deviousness hidden in the corners of his mouth. She knew that Riza's next assignment was moving to Central with Grumman but this was ridiculous. "You can't wait another day?" she bit out, barely concealing her contempt.

He seemed to think about it before shrugging a bit and turning around to walk down the hall. "I'm not inclined to give you my reasons, girl. Come with me, Havoc. We have details to discuss about Riza's mission."

Rebecca stared after Havoc as he murmured a heated apology in her ear - seems that he was pretty pissed at Grumman now too - and then growled to herself. "That bastard."

::::

She was shaking from head to foot, as if the tremors of an earthquake were tearing apart the tectonic plates that made up her body. Riza couldn't be certain if it was in anger or in surprise or in despair, but she concluded that it was a miserable combination of the three and her tongue was dry and rough as sand against the roof of her mouth.

It _couldn't_ be _him_.

It _couldn't_ be.

The sight of her rifle dropped from her eye and she lowered the weapon with an unsteady tremble, to take a breath. Maybe she was seeing things; maybe that man down there in the office that was soon to be a tomb was not Roy, but a man who looked like him in every possible way. Because that could not be him down there; if it was him, then she was his murderer and she'd have to live the rest of her life knowing that she'd killed her friend.

It couldn't be him.

She raised the rifle back up slowly, and the tremors shook her violently again, the image of her victim's face turned and facing her blatantly as he stared out his window to the streets below. Unmistakable. The dark trim of hair teasing his eyes, the slope of authority on those shoulders, the cool curl of a frown on a mouth she had spent too many moments remembering.

Oh, god, it _was_ him.

Her immediate reaction was involuntary and the rifle clattered as it hit the rooftop and she ducked down behind the lip of the roof, her heart thudding in a panicked cadence in her chest, her breath tasting sour on her lips. She wanted to shout, scream, and rage and pace until there was nothing left inside of her; she wanted to release the ache of her surprise and the weight of her reality into the air in a piercing sound. For once, she wanted the world to know that Riza Hawkeye was in agony, and she was having a hard time confining it.

_Calm down_, she told herself as her fist pushed against her hard-pressed lips. _Be rational._

Rational. That was laughable. Was that even a word that coincided with anything Roy had ever meant to her? Colonel Roy Mustang - and now it all made sense, now she could see what had been so familiar about him; the air of authority that he commanded, a trait he shared with her very own grandfather, unbearably enough - was undoubtedly her sworn enemy. Despite the exchange with him, the malice in her veins against the government should have been enough to send the bullet through his head. It should, it should, it should.

So why was she shaking?

_I'm not dangerous to you._

God, she felt sick.

_I wouldn't shoot you._

She wanted to take the anger and carry it over so that she could get this over with. At least then, she could kill, do her job, get rid of yet another dog that safeguarded the barbaric governing power of Amestris. She was angry at Roy for never telling her who he was, but that wasn't fair since he had no clue that she was perched here contemplating being his murderer. No, the anger was placed at Grumman, for giving her this mission, for raising her in the Resistance, for being related to her.

Her stomach churned. Roy was her enemy and after everything, yes, she was furious that he'd kept his identity hidden from her, but she didn't want to kill him. Could she even? The Resistance was depending on her, the annihilation of all military officers seen as a heavy threat. The files Breda had dug up on Roy had named him as a strategist that had played a part in decimating Ishval, had proven that he'd killed as many people as Riza herself had. So why was it so hard to pull that trigger? Because he'd made her a sandwich? Listened to her? How soft-hearted had she gotten for a stranger?

She took a deep breath, steady, steady, steady. He was the enemy, but he was not evil. After everything she'd experienced with her own eyes in his presence, she could not condemn him to that label. But what did that justify? She had never not completed a mission before; her kills had always been efficient and immediate. Riza never missed and Grumman would be insufferable if she started now.

Her eyes roamed over the sleek, familiar form of her weapon lying next to her, a finger reaching out to touch the cool metal. It would be so easy, she thought with a sudden ache. Align the crosshairs, squeeze the trigger, run. She didn't have to look at the handiwork of her skill, wouldn't have to stay to see his blood splatter across his carpet. She had done this thousands of times before. Why did this time feel so different?

The gun slid into her grip effortlessly, like shaking the hand of an old friend, though it felt at least ten times heavier than it had before. Her thoughts slowed and she pushed away the memories of Roy smiling at her because those would only hinder her. When she peeked back over the edge of the roof, she saw him still standing there, as strong and confident as a pillar, peering out into the city. He would die painlessly, at least.

Her throat thickened and made it hard to swallow. She balanced the rifle on the roof and slid her gaze into the sight, watching in muted, abject horror as the lines crossed elegantly, morbidly, directly on his head of ink dark hair. Her finger slotted itself over the trigger and she breathed out, summoning the strength to execute Roy Mustang. Her eyes held, her heart drummed, and she swore that his gaze flickered up to her.

_I wouldn't shoot you._

It had seemed like such a silly vow at the time, but a vow nonetheless.

She braced herself for the reverberations and pursed her lips as her finger hovered there over the trigger. The world seemed to slow down, time stretched. One twitch and this would all be over. _He_ would be _all _over.

There was a long pause, an aching and insistent consideration that made her bones weary and her head hurt.

"Damn you, Mustang," she whispered shakily, angrily, and lowered her weapon.


End file.
